9-11 Socks

On the morning of 9-11, I was in my office at the animal shelter, trying to explain the laws regarding nuisance barking to a woman on the other end of the phone who was upset about the nocturnal vocalizations of the Labrador Retriever next door.

I was listening patiently as she detailed her lack of sleep and how it was affecting her life and her blood pressure, when something else began to compete for my attention.

I usually have the radio news turned on at low volume in my office, and I could hear alarming snippets of talk on National Public Radio: "plane crashed into the World Trade Center" .... "tower on fire" ... and so forth.

Just enough to distract me from the woman's litany of canine complaints.

I wondered what the news item was about. It was far, far too bizarre to register immediately as something that was actually happening. For about half a minute, I suspected that it must be a review of an upcoming Die Hard movie -- a plane crashes into the World Trade Center, a lot of stuff blows up, a bunch of bad guys get shot, and Bruce Willis saves the day, thanks to a ready supply of ammunition and undershirts.

Something like that.

It had to be.

Wasn't it?

My attention vacillated between the woman on the phone and the NPR broadcast, and within a few moments, I began to focus much more closely on the radio than on the woman's complaint.

Wait a minute ... I thought ... that doesn't sound like a movie review ... is this for real...?

Then someone down the hall shouted, "EVERYBODY COME SEE THIS!"

Someone had turned on the TV in the conference room. I heard the cashier cry out, "Oh my God!"

And I realized, this is for real.

I told the lady on the phone to call back later about the barking dog, to turn on her TV, that something terrible had happened ... and I hung up.

I ran into the conference room where everyone had gathered around the TV.

And we watched.

We watched as the second plane flew into the WTC and another plane hit the Pentagon. We watched the reports of a fourth plane crashing into a field.

My brother-in-law works across the street from the Pentagon. I called home and woke up my husband (he was working nights at the time). I told Dave what happened and asked him to try to reach his brother, Jack.

My boss called a meeting in case we were activated for emergency duties. If this was a terrorist attack, they could have other targets all over the country, including the major refinieries in Baton Rouge. Animal Control is a law enforcement agency, and we could be called to assist with any emergy situation in our city. We stopped taking all calls but animal emergencies, and told our officers to finish their priority calls, come in from the field, and await orders from the Mayor on what our agency should do.

There were a lot of phone calls and emergency meetings that day. But most of that day was spent transfixed before the TV in the conference room. We watched as the firefighters rushed in and the towers fell. I felt my stomach drop -- my grandfather was a fire captain with the New Orleans Fire Department. That's his fire helmet in the picture.

I knew what the firefighters had done, and I knew that they were gone. I thought of an old friend who worked for Morgan Stanley as a Japanese translator, and I thought of the restaurant staff at Windows on the World. I worried about Jack and frantically tried to reach him, but of course all the phone lines to DC were jammed. So I e-mailed Jack at work and at home.

Finally, around four thirty, I got a brief, telegram-style e-mail from Jack: "Got home OK. Took all day. Scotty's safe, too. Try to call tomorrow. Unbelievable."

I called Dave and told him that Jack and his wife were OK.

At five o'clock, we made plans for answering emergency animal calls overnight, and everyone went home. Traffic was slow, and the sky was full of helicopters from the National Guard station. Guard trucks were deployed along the streets accessing Exxon, and from the Interstate, I could see helicopters circling the other chemical plants along the river.

I got home, hugged Dave, and we settled down to watch TV.

I was too stunned to knit for quite awhile but as I felt anxiety mounting within me, I reached for the nylon zipper-bag which held the socks I had in progress -- the socks pictured above. Noro Kureyon, and some leftover soft brown wool for the heels and toes.

I just clutched the socks and stared at the TV for a long time. And then I started knitting.

I had cast on and knitted about two inches of the first sock's cuff the night before.

By the time we finally went to bed on 9/11 -- long after midnight -- I had finished the second sock.

The funny thing is, I don't remember knitting them.

I don't recall a single stitch.

I remember picking them up, holding them, and starting to knit.

Then I remember having two finished socks. Some time after they were finished, I noticed that I had knitted the colorway in reverse on the second sock.

I remember that I rewound the skein when I started the the first sock the previous night, but in my horrified and zombie-like state on 9-11, I must have started the second sock right off the second ball, from the center pull. I didn't remember doing that. I never, ever, start a skein without rewinding it. But that's what I must have done that day.

I decided that I liked the randomness of the color sequence. They are fraternal twins, not identical. I like them, but I don't remember knitting them.

I only remember watching the day unfold on TV. I do remember feeling my hands knitting, but, although I must have glanced at my hands from time to time, I don't remember seeing my hands knitting. My eyes were locked on the TV.

I do not recall paying the least bit of attention to those socks. The socks simply served as a focus for all the random kinetic energy in my body, energy that wanted me to pace up and down, to run away, to pound fists against hard surfaces, to scream, to break things and slam doors, to crawl in a cave and hide.

But instead of doing any of those things, my hands made socks while the rest of me tried to absorb the shock.

My hands made socks, kept me grounded and kept panic at bay on that terrible day. My hands made socks while my mind processed one new realization at a time: thousands of people are dead.... we will never eat dinner at Windows on the World.... They are not finding survivors.... we will never see the view of New York from the top of the WTC.... The world has changed forever.

Of course, these socks have become my "9-11 Socks."

Everybody remembers exactly what they were doing and where they were on the morning of September 11.

But -- those of you who read my blog, I wonder -- what did you do to keep sane that day?

Did you knit? What did you knit? Do you still have the item, and can you ever use it without thinking of 9-11?

Let's all take a few moments today to remember those who died that day.

--Mambocat


p.s. -- weeks later, I learned that my old friend no longer worked for Morgan Stanley, and was not in the WTC on 9/11.