Right now as I look out the study window, I am being greeted by a sky trying to decide to be sunny or gray.
Having stepped onto the FireEscape earlier in the morning, I found the air cool. So it is a sweater day.
And Laundry Day.
It is one of the aftermats of having the flu: clothes that smell like Vics Vapor Rub.
So I decided to make a morning of this: Gathering the clothes, getting change, calling the cab and heading to the laundryMat. Starbucks is three blocks away, so I can get a cup of coffee and read some more of the Kite Runner.
This morning I awoke to the news that there were 14 soldiers killed in Afganistan. There are four-teen families about to see the Black car sitting in front of the house, that knock at the door. The Black Car. The Knock at the Door. It goes with war.
We are at War.
I am waiting.
I am waiting for that call.
"Baby, I'm fine."
I need to pray. I need to keep busy. I need to wash smelly clothes and make cookies for neighors. I need to feel the fresh air blowing in my face and grab my cameria to take the pictures I missed yesterday.
I need to hear Mark's voice.