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Echos of disaster

Today was a terrible day in Paris. Terrorists entered a left leaning paper and with a machine gun, killed 12 people and injured another 10, then got away. It was in my neighborhood, about a 5 minute walk. People here were upset, worried, nervous, angry. I am living here with these people, sharing their anger and worry. I think it is intensified by echos of another day in NYC.

Helmut heard the news before I did. I was a bit shocked and confused. What happened? Why did this happen? As in NYC on 9/11, it took me a bit to comprehend this. I wasn't sure if the danger still existed or if the killing was over. Was this an accident? Crazy person? No, terrorism. Ah.

I spent the rest of the day quietly at home. On 9/11 everyone in NYC remembers the weather. It was one of those early fall days when the temperature is perfect and not a cloud in the sky. I remember telling Helmut about the weather that day and that people refer to it as 9/11 weather. He used the term the next day, to describe the weather in Paris (I had left for NYC) and I commented that he shouldn't use that term, since he wasn't there (I was a bit more mean that I intended; I apologized later). Here in Paris, I don't remember the weather, but the unease in the air.

In NYC, I went shopping and cooked a chilli and invited anyone who had nowhere to go. I remember a person I hardly knew but was caught downtown showed up. We spent the evening watching the events over and over on TV. After a week of seeing that footage, I can't see it again nor is a need, since it is indelibly stamped in my brain. Last night here in Paris, I made a coq au vin. It was strange because the only reason I wanted to make it was that we had some bacon in the refrigerator and I wanted to use it before it went bad. Helmut had invited Laure over for dinner; I was so glad. Before arriving, Laure had been at the Place de la République and had been with the people gathering there. She said the energy was full of anger and sorry. We spent the time before dinner watching the TV and the commentary on the event. We were straining for details where there weren't any really. People were dead.

We gathered at the table and enjoyed the dinner surrounded by those close to us. We toasted free speech. Laure said the coq au vin was as good as her grandmother's. While I doubt she was right, I truly enjoyed the complement. For dessert we had a three kings cake. This is the kind that has a prize in the middle and the one who gets it wears a crown. Laure was the queen of the evening. When dinner was over, Laure left, possibly to go home, possibly to join others in the public square. We expressed love and support as she left.

We cleaned up and went to bed with a heavy heart. It was a horrible day in Paris.

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