Miss Ann Says

thoughts from everyday life
Miss Ann Says
  • About Me & Media Bio:
  • Speaker/Writer
    • Exploring

      Posted at 10:27 am by missannsays, on June 30, 2021

      “Design a life you are inspired to live.” Annette White

      Yesterday was a different kind of day for me. I felt unburdened. Expect for a lunch date with a friend at 12:30pm, my morning was free. Yes, I had stuff I could’ve done but instead I decided to explore two 9/11 memorials.

      Empty Skies and Tear Drop memorials have been on my radar for years. Yesterday I finally visited both of them. They are actually fairly near each other – one at Liberty State Park and the other in Bayonne. Today I am going exploring.

      But first, I picked up a decaf iced coffee at a drive through DD that took longer than it should’ve. I am not sweating the small stuff today.

      The Tear Drop Memorial was a little tricky to find. I mean I drove past buildings being demolished, construction equipment, stuff that looked like the movie set for a murder mystery. My car doors were locked. Once I arrived at memorial it was all good. Tear Drop is impressive and gives great views of Lower Manhattan.

      The Tear Drop memorial’s official name is To the Struggle Against World Terrorism. I have included an article that explains the Memorial’s history and own struggles.

      https://www.thehistorygirl.com/2014/06/bayonne-nj-teardrop-monument.html?m=1

      A construction crew at the Empty Skies Memorial made taking photos without them difficult. Empty Skies is the official New Jersey memorial to the state residents killed on September 11, 2001. Easier to find than the Tear Drop memorial because it is in Liberty State Park right near the train station. Cool views of Lower Manhattan as well.

      It was strange that there were no crowds purchasing tickets to Ellis Island or the Statue of Liberty. I was grateful for clean restrooms in the train station. An interesting place to wander around. I love train stations.

      I did check my email as I pulled into the parking lot at Liberty State Park which lead to having to take care of an issue. But all in all I had a great morning exploring. When was the last time you went exploring? I highly recommend it.

      Posted in daily life, September 11 | 0 Comments | Tagged little things, September 11, travel
    • Dinner with friends

      Posted at 11:57 am by missannsays, on May 11, 2021

      Jacques d’Amboise’s death last week brought back a fond memory of an event that years later still makes me shake my head in disbelieve. Let me explain.

      My friend, Kimberly, had asked if I was interested in attending a fundraiser event entitled An Evening with Jacques d’Amboise and friends at P.J. Clarke’s in Manhattan. The tickets were a little pricey but it included dinner and a donation to his work with public school children. I grew up following his dance career. And as a dance teacher and lover of ballet, I thought why not its for a good cause.

      I arrived a little early and decided I would go in anyway as I hoped Kimberly would already be there. As I walked in, I spotted Kimberly sitting having a conversation with Jacques d’Amboise. Wow. Then Mr. d’Amboise stood up, extended his hand and said “you must be Ann.” I tried my best to appear calm and sophisticated. We had a delightful conversation and then he was off to take care of some final details for the evening. Kimberly and I were surprised but decided arriving early had some perks.

      Eventually others arrived and people were directed to take their seats. It was a small group less than fifty people. Kimberly and I found seats. Our table begun to fill up. Our table mates introduced themselves and then the big question – so how do you know Jacques? Wait. What? This is truly is Jacques d’ Amboise’s friends. Alrighty, then. I couldn’t make eye contact with Kimberly because I knew I would burst out laughing. We were the only people in the room who weren’t personal friends of Jacques d’Amboise. How did this happen – I am sitting in a room with the people I had watched perform on stage or read about in Dance Magazine. I tried my best not to go all fan girl. I felt like a bug on the wall hearing insider stories of the ballet world. It was wonderful.

      When the evening concluded, Kimberly and I just looked at each other and laughed. We decided that sometimes and friends actually means and friends even if an invitation shows up in your inbox. Would I do it again, in a heartbeat. Dance on, Jacques, dance on.

      “Who am I? I’m a man; an American, a father, a teacher, but most of all, I am a person who knows how the arts can change lives, because they transformed mine. I was a dancer.” ~ Jacques d’Amboise

        Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged ballet
      • Panic to peace

        Posted at 1:41 pm by missannsays, on March 8, 2021

        A year. It’s been a year since I headed to the cabin for a couple of days to pack for a conference in North Carolina. Even then I knew I wouldn’t be attending the conference. I kept searching for signs that it was okay to go.

        A vacation to Italy had already been canceled and totally refunded. But US travel that was still good. I didn’t want to fly so driving was the plan. But by the time I arrived at the cabin on Thursday evening March 12, I knew deep in my being that this thing called a pandemic was happening. I didn’t yet understand how one navigates a pandemic but I like the rest of you would learn.

        I have gone from panic to preparation. In the beginning leaving the house brought a certain level of panic. A year later it takes preparation – mask, hand sanitizer, grocery pick up, where am I going and why? No wandering. No unnecessary stops.

        One year ago on FB I posted “So in light of the corona virus, how do we be with friends, family and the marginalized when we cant’ be with friends, family and the marginalized. I think “we” are up to the challenge so let’s be there when we cant’ actually be there.”

        I have gone from panic to presence. How to be with each other when we can’t be together? Technology has played a big role in communicating and connecting. I am grateful. Sending old fashion snail mail. Sharing puzzles. Praying for family, friends, front line workers. All have helped me feel the presence of friends and family.

        I have gone from panic to peace. At a time when I feared relationships would be lost, they have actually grown stronger. Grown more precious. Wearing a mask, social distancing, vaccines, etc are our new normal. That is okay especially if it keeps us alive and well.

        We weren’t all in the same boat this last year. We weren’t necessarily even in the same storm. We were each in a storm. I hope and pray you have traveled (or are traveling) from panic to peace.

        Photo by Ray Bilcliff on Pexels.com
        Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment | Tagged faith, pandemic, peace
      • An example to follow

        Posted at 9:27 am by missannsays, on January 28, 2021

        Today is the 35th anniversary of the Challenger tragedy. For many of us it is a national remembrance, for the younger generation it is a historical event and for the youngest it is ancient history but to some it is personal. Thank you families of the Challenger crew for your sacrifice and example.

        Seven years ago I wrote the following post. I thought it was worth sharing again. Unfortunately as a nation we have suffered numerous tragedies in the past seven years. And in the midst of those national tragedies there have been many personal losses.

        Pay it Forward January 29, 2014 –

        Yesterday was the 28th anniversary for lack of a better word of the Space Shuttle Challenger exploding as it lifted off for a journey to space. I remember where I was. Most of us if we are of a certain age know where we were and what we were doing. It was a national tragedy but wives lost their husbands, husbands lost their wives, children lost their parent, parents lost their grown children and friends lost friends. It was their personal loss in the midst of a national tragedy.

        On September 11, 2001 I would become a member of that club no one wants to be a member of. The “I have had a personal loss in the midst of a national tragedy” club.

        I mentioned this in reference to the Challenger anniversary because one of the most profound, generous things that happened in those days and weeks after September 11 was the daughter of the Commander of the Challenger space shuttle wrote a letter to the children of the September 11 attacks.

        I have included it below.

        As I thought about that today I realized I was blessed and inspired by her actions. My children were blessed by her actions. She paid it forward.

        I had opportunity to pay it forward when I went to Japan to speak to families of the March 11, 2011 earthquake, tsunami and nuclear tragedy, and tell my 9-11 story. Wow!!! God truly doesn’t waste anything. 🙂

        “A Letter to the Youngest Victims of the Terrorists Attacks
        Dear Children,
        The thunderous explosions that rocked the whole world last week have shattered yours.

        Why does the TV show the crashing plane, exploding and collapsing buildings over and over? Where is my Mom or Dad? Why can’t the rescuers find him/her? Who could have done this terrible thing? Why is the whole nation crying?

        Yours is a small voice in a crashing storm of questions arising from an act of war on the American people. But no answers will bring you comfort. And no answers will bring you closer to understanding, save one: Your Mom or Dad was in harm’s way.

        While our great nation bulks up for the first fight of the century, we, the Challenger children and all the children of public disasters, are hearing your hearts break, holding your hands and hugging you from afar. You are not alone. We want you to know that it will be bad ­ very bad ­ for a little while, but it will get better.

        You see, 15 years ago, before some of you were even born, I watched my father and his crew die in a horrible accident. Our loved ones were astronauts on board the space shuttle Challenger, which blew up a few minutes after take off. It all happened on live television. It should have been a moment of private grief, but instead it turned into a very public torture. We couldn’t turn on the television for weeks afterward, because we were afraid we would see the gruesome spectacle of the Challenger coming apart a mile up in the sky.

        My father died a hundred times a day on televisions all across the country. And since it happened so publicly, everyone in the country felt like it happened to them, too. And it did. The Challenger explosion was a national tragedy. Everyone saw it, everyone hurt, everyone grieved, everyone wanted to help. But that did not make it any easier for me. They wanted to say good-bye to American heroes. I just wanted to say good-bye to my Daddy.

        Our nation mourns with you, for itself and for you. But yours is also a personal loss that is separate from this national tragedy. We hope this letter will bring you some comfort now or in the future, when you are strong enough ­ old enough ­ to read it. We want to prepare you for what’s to come and to help you deal with this burden you never asked to bear. No one asked the people in the World Trade Center, in the Pentagon, or on the airplanes to give their lives in a war they had never volunteered to fight, against people they did not even know were plotting their deaths. Your Mom or Dad was innocent. They were just doing their jobs or traveling to see friends or family, but someone decided to make their everyday lives – and yours – a battlefield.

        You’ve discovered by now that you won’t be able to escape the barrage of news and the countless angles of investigation, speculation and exasperation. The 24-hour coverage will ebb and flow, but will blind side you in the weeks, months and years to follow when you least expect it. You will be watching television and then, suddenly, there will be those pictures – the plane, the towers, the cloud of dust, the fires, the people running. For other people watching, this will all be something called “history.” To you, it’s your life.

        Just know that the media and public perception of this catastrophe aren’t the same as yours. They can’t know how painful it is to watch your Mom or Dad die several times each day. If they knew how much pain it caused, they would stop.

        You imagine death like it is in a fairy tale or like at Grandma or Grandpa’s funeral. They look asleep and peaceful in their coffins. Their earthly bodies are tangible and recognizable. You can say good-bye to someone who looks like your loved one. But the physical proof ­ the recognizable person that was your Mom or Dad ­ is gone or not whole or not recognizable. Your mind can’t accept it, even though your heart knows it. You know their spirit has gone to Heaven, but it’s hard to say good-bye. You will find your own way to say good-bye in your own time.

        You may feel sick when you think about his or her broken body. Your imagination might even carry you to new and scary depths and unspeakable images. You will be afraid to ask what happened because the answers might be worse than what you imagined. You’ll torture yourself wondering if they felt pain, if they suffered, if they knew what was happening. They didn’t. In the same way your brain doesn’t register pain immediately when you break your arm, your Mom or Dad didn’t know pain in their last moments of life on this earth.

        You may have strange dreams or nightmares about your Mom or Dad being alive somehow, trapped in a pocket of the wreckage of the building or stranded or lost in some remote location after parachuting out of the plane before it crashed. They may call to you in your dream to come find them. You will wake up with such hope and determination, only to have the clouds of reality gather and rain fresh tears of exasperation and sadness on your face. These dreams are your subconscious self trying to make sense out of what your conscious self already knows.

        You will think about the last things you said to each other. Were they loving words or actions? Did we speak sharply to each other? Were we too sleepy or rushed to even have one last look at each other’s faces? Rest easy. Their last thoughts were of you ­ the all of who you are ­ not the Tuesday morning, Sept. 11, you. And they were happy thoughts, all in a jumble of emotions so deep they are everlasting.

        Everyone you know will cry fresh tears when they see you. People will try to feed you even though you know it all tastes like cardboard. They want to know what you think ­ what you feel ­ what you need. But you really don’t know. You may not know for a very long time. And it will be an even longer amount of time before you can imagine your life without your Mom or Dad.

        Some people, working through their own grief, will want to talk to you about the catastrophe, the aftermath, the rescue and recovery, or the actions that will be taken by our nation. Others will whisper as you walk by, “Her dad was killed in the attack on the World Trade Center,” or “His mom was in the plane that crashed into the Pentagon,” or “His dad was one of the firefighters who died when the buildings collapsed.” This new identity might be difficult for you. Sometimes you will want to say to the whisperers, “Yes, that was my Dad. We are so proud of him. I miss him like crazy!” But sometimes you will want to fade into the background, wanting to anonymously grieve in your own way, in your own time, without an audience.

        When those who loved your Mom or Dad talk with you, cry with you, or even scream with frustration and unfairness of it, you don’t have to make sense of it all. Grief is a weird and winding path with no real destination and lots of switch backs. Look on grief as a journey ­ full of rest stops, enlightening sites and potholes of differing depths of rage, sadness and despair. Just realize that you won’t be staying forever at one stop. You will eventually move on to the next. And the path will become smoother, but it may never come to an end.

        Ask the people who love you and who knew and loved your Mom or Dad to help you remember the way they lived ­ not the way they died. You need stories about your Mom or Dad from their friends, co-workers and your family. These stories will keep your Mom or Dad alive and real in your heart and mind for the rest of your life. Listen carefully to the stories. Tell them. Write them. Record them. Post them online. The stories will help you remember. The stories will help you make decisions about your life ­ help you become the person you were meant to be.

        Just as a stronger nation will rise out of the grisly cinders and steel skeletal remains of buildings and airplanes, so will you be a stronger person. The events of last week will shape your life in many different ways. You will wonder if you’ll ever be safe again. You will. Our nation will wage a mighty war on terrorism. You will be protected. You can still believe in the future ­ in your future.

        Please know that we are with you ­ holding you in our hearts, in our minds and in our prayers.
        Kathie Scobee Fulgham”

        Miss Ann Says

        Yesterday was the 28th anniversary for lack of a better word of the Space Shuttle Challenger exploding as it lifted off for a journey to space. I remember where I was. Most of us if we are of a certain age know where we were and what we were doing. It was a national tragedy but wives lost their husbands, husbands lost their wives, children lost their parent, parents lost their grown children and friends lost friends. It was their personal loss in the midst of a national tragedy.

        On September 11, 2001 I would become a member of that club no one wants to be a member of. The “I have had a personal loss in the midst of a national tragedy” club. I mentioned this in reference to the Challenger anniversary because one of the most profound, generous things that happened in those days and weeks after September…

        View original post 1,608 more words

        Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments
      • A mouse in the house

        Posted at 12:25 pm by missannsays, on January 24, 2021

        When I took down my Christmas decorations, I transferred the Hershey kisses from the clear Christmas tree container to two small Lenox candy dishes. Years ago, I decided to use my good stuff and not save it for special occasions. I left one bowl on the kitchen counter and placed the other on a shelf in the kitchen cabinet. Don’t need to eat two bowls of kisses.

        Little did I know that a dish of candy would cause me to question my mental health.

        Let me explain. Oh, I would appreciate if you would please cut me a little slack this was before coffee, ten months into a pandemic, and it was the morning after the US Capitol had been stormed by “Americans.”

        On January 7 as I made my morning coffee, I noticed the candy bowl was empty. How? At which point my thoughts spiraled towards some ridiculous conclusions.

        I must be sleep walking and eating them. That would explain my weight gain.

        No, wait. I remember now. I threw them out so I wouldn’t be tempted to eat them. Yeah, that’s it.

        Checked trash can. Nothing.

        Someone broke in. That’s impossible.

        But checked doors anyway. All secure.

        I’m going crazy.

        Not, good.

        Think, think.

        Plan, need a plan.

        I went to the corner cabinet, found the other bowl of kisses, placed it is same spot and took a photo. Photo documentation will help my sanity. Good idea.

        Then I changed my mind.

        Put two kisses in bowl, took photo, and threw out the rest.

        Alrighty I have a plan.

        Went about my day.

        Went to bed.

        Got up. Cautiously went downstairs.

        The kisses were gone.

        And there was a single mouse poop in the candy dish.

        Thank God. I have a mouse in the house.

        Never thought I would think that.

        Called Terminix. Read up on the internet and found out that mice do like chocolate. Mouse has since moved on to mousy heaven.

        Yesterday I realized my former mouse visitor had stored or dropped two of his kisses in the basement sink. Took a photo. Still feel the need for documentation. (don’t judge my basement sink)

        Not really sure why I shared this story except maybe sometimes we need to tell our stories so others can laugh, or cry, or say “me, too.”

        “We owe it to each other to tell stories.” Neil Gaiman

        Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment
      • My ABC’s for 2020 – the big & little of it.

        Posted at 3:00 am by missannsays, on December 30, 2020

        A is for America. Oh, my! What a year it has been.

                    A is for Avery. She celebrated her first birthday on September 26, 2020.

        B is for Black Lives Matter. Still so much work to be done.

        B is for Beach. Rented a house and hunkered down with family for a week of sun, sea and hand sanitizer.

        C is for Covid 19. 

                    C is for Colton. He turned five in April and started Kindergarten in September.

        D is for Death. Too many lives lost.

                    D is for deer that visit my yard in PA.

        E is for Entertainment industry. Continuing to pray for those that lost their jobs and dreams.

                    E is for exercise. Need to do more of that.

        F is for Fear. May we not live in it.

                    F is for FaceTime with family and friends.

        G is for God. He is good. He is faithful.

                    G is for God. He is my strength and shield.

        H is for Healthcare. Need to make sure it available for all who need it.

                    H is for Healthcare workers, the heroes of 2020.

        I is for internet. Thankful for technology.

                    I is for I. Can’t. Even. Spoken or texted many times.

        J is for Justice. Need to seek it for so many.

                    J is for moments of joy in the midst of chaos.

        K is for Kids. May we show them good examples of what it means to be human.

                    K is for kiss. 

        L is for Love Wins.

                    L is for Library. Thanks for supplying me with E books. 

        M is for Mask wearing.

        M is for Mom-mom’s preschool. What I called my time caring for three grandkids, four days a week for 10 weeks. 

        N is for a New Year. May we love our neighbors as ourselves.

                    N is for NYC. I miss you.

        O is for out of work. Praying for many.

                    O is for online opportunities to share my story.

        P is for Pandemic. 

                    P is for puzzles. I completed and shared a bunch.

        Q is for quarantine. 

                    Q is for quality time spent with my daughters.

        R is for rest. It is as important as work.

                    R is for reading. I read or listened to 32 books in 2020.

        S is for Social Distancing.

                    S is for social media. Kept me in touch.

        T is for Thankful for Essential Workers. 

                    T is for travel. Looking forward to it when it is safe.

        U is for unbelievable. Describes so much of 2020

                    U is for unique ways.  The way most celebrations happened in 2020. 

        V is for Vaccine.

                    V is for valued voices. Those that gave us information and hope.

        W is for wearing a mask.

                    W is for Wyatt. He turned three in March.

        X is for eXtraordinary times. 

                    X is for eXtremely blessed which I am.

        Y is for You’re muted.

                    Y is for you. Remember to be kind to yourself.

        Z is for Zoom.

                    Z is for Zoom call that happened weekly with Tribute Ladies. What a blessing.

        “For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” I Corinthians 13:12 & 13

        Posted in books, daily life, faith, memories, relationships | 0 Comments
      • The apple store

        Posted at 12:47 pm by missannsays, on October 23, 2020

        My grandsons’ love to go to the apple store. They are too young to understand why I always chuckle when they mention the apple store. Oh, not the place that sells iPhones and has a Genius Bar, but the farm stand down the block from their house. As inviting as the Apple Store is with its shiny electronics and gadgets, it can’t match the colors and smells of fresh fruits and vegetables. 

        The book of Galatians contrasts two lives – one lead by the sinful nature and one lead by the Spirit. The author, Paul, gives us two lists. Galatians 5:19 -21 and the other in Galatians 5:22-23. I have included TPT – The Passion Translation and the NIV translation. Both translations show such stark contrasts.

         “The cravings of the self-life are obvious: Sexual immorality, lustful thoughts, pornography, chasing after things instead of God, manipulating others, hatred of those who get in your way, senseless arguments, resentment when others are favored, temper tantrums, angry quarrels, only thinking of yourself, being in love with your own opinions, being envious of the blessings of others, murder, uncontrolled addictions, wild parties, and all other similar behavior.” Galatians 5:19-21 TPT

        “But the fruit produced by the Holy Spirit within you is divine love in all its varied expressions:

        joy that overflows,

        peace that subdues,

        patience that endures,

        kindness in action,

        a life full of virtue,

        faith that prevails,

        gentleness of heart, and

        strength of spirit.

        Never set the law above these qualities, for they are meant to be limitless.”  Galatians 5:22-23 TPT

        “The acts of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God.” Galatians 5:19-21 NIV

        “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.” Galatians 5:22-23 NIV

        I found this beautiful explanation of the fruit of the Spirit by Bill Bright, founder of Campus Crusade for Christ.

        Joy is love’s strength.

        Peace is love’s security.

        Patience (forbearance) is love’s endurance.

        Kindness is love’s conduct.

        Goodness is love’s character.

        Faithfulness is love’s confidence.

        Gentleness is love’s humility.

        Self-control is love’s victory.

        Lord, thank you for the yummy fruit that fills my belly but thank you even more for your Spirit that fills my life.

        Disclaimer: I am not saying The Apple Store aka where they sell iPhones is sinful just want us to be clear on that. Thanks.

        Photo by Maria Lindsey Multimedia Creator on Pexels.com

        Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment | Tagged apple atore, kid stuff
      • Hope vs Cope

        Posted at 4:02 pm by missannsays, on October 13, 2020

        I recently came across a blog post I had written for Laced With Grace back in October of 2016. I felt it was still relevant today so I tweaked it a little and decided to share it with you. My reference to Laurie’s post is to another LWG writers post just days before my original post.

        Laurie in her post Cast Your Cares so beautifully stated: “God does not want us to cope with our troubles, He said give it all to Him. The thing that I see happening whenever we try to cope is that we end up trying to accept things as they are, or we try to hang on for as long as we can. Coping is like a rope; given enough weight or pressure, it WILL break or unravel. Coping is nothing but a rope, just waiting for things (us) to come unraveled.” 

        What a great word picture. Laurie’s post resonated with me and reminded me of what God had taught me about the word cope. “How are you coping?” was the question asked numerous times by friends, neighbors and even reporters after my husband’s line of duty death on September 11, 2001 that same question in a slightly different form is still asked today. My response then and now is “I am not coping. I am hoping in the promises of God.” The whole situation was so overwhelming that I felt I had no choice but to hope instead of cope. There was nothing I could do.

        I think that we all have had circumstances in our lives when we think cope, are you kidding me?!? How do I cope when this is so unbelievable? As Laurie said “Coping is nothing but a rope.” To me coping is trying to hold on, believing that I can take care of things. Cope/can but God wants us to hope/Him. He wants us to trust Him. The difference is a single letter.

        Hoping in God’s promises means I believe that God will handle things for and with me that doesn’t mean I am not doing something but it means I am seeking wisdom from Him. An interesting side note, the word cope isn’t in most versions of the Bible. I can do a word search for hope or I can search His promises but a word search of cope yields no results.

        “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10 NIV


        “Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” Hebrews 13:5b NIV


        “I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, “who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty.” Revelation 1:8 NIV


        “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.” Proverbs 3:5-6 NIV

        Many times, even if it is just in my head I have repeated the words to that old hymn My Hope is Built on Nothing Less.

        “My Hope is Built on Nothing Less”
        by Edward Mote, 1797-1874


        1. My hope is built on nothing less
        Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness;
        I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
        But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.
        On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand;
        All other ground is sinking sand.


        2. When darkness veils His lovely face,
        I rest on His unchanging grace;
        In every high and stormy gale
        My anchor holds within the veil.
        On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand;
        All other ground is sinking sand.


        3. His oath, His covenant, and blood
        Support me in the whelming flood;
        When every earthly prop gives way,
        He then is all my Hope and Stay.
        On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand;
        All other ground is sinking sand.


        4. When He shall come with trumpet sound,
        Oh, may I then in Him be found,
        Clothed in His righteousness alone,
        Faultless to stand before the throne!
        On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand;
        All other ground is sinking sand.

        Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment | Tagged Hope, September 11
      • Joy comes in the morning

        Posted at 10:00 am by missannsays, on September 12, 2020

        This was role reversal. Christine, my baby sister, coming to help me. As her big sister by almost 13 years, I had changed her diaper, taken her to Disney World, driven her to school, been her ballet teacher. When she was in high school, I was her employer. She graduated from high school just weeks after my first child was born. Through college she had continued to teach for me. Law school ended our employee/employer connection. 

        At times our relationship had been more mother/daughter than sisters but here she was standing in my kitchen early on Wednesday September 12 with her suitcase in hand stating, 

        “I have come to do all those things you can’t do and to stay for as long as you need me.”  

        I knew without a doubt there were things she could do that I couldn’t – navigate the legal system, ask the right questions, identify a body. 

        As I hoisted myself up to sit on the kitchen counter, I asked, “But how? Don’t you have any cases?” After a brief stint as a corporate lawyer, Christine had become an assistant district attorney in Schenectady, New York. 

         She sat down at the table. “It’s weird. I don’t have any cases. Everyone pled guilty.”  Confused and not sure if she was lying, I was grateful.  

         My daughters and Christine had a great relationship, so my sister’s presence was not only a blessing to me, but it gave me confidence that my girls were in good hands. To see Meghan and Christine greet each other with their elaborate combination dance/handshake created a sense of normal on a day very little was known. The telling of the very little we knew “he is unaccounted” was told and retold as family, friends and acquaintances called, showed up on my doorstep or emailed.  

        Throughout the day the television was turned on to glean information. Real information a much-needed commodity. The television was not a reliable source as it seemed to me that stories were broadcast without verification. I don’t fault the media for that because the need for information was frantic. It was a rollercoaster that wasn’t beneficial, so the television was off more than it was on.  School canceled for that day but reopened on Thursday. We hung close to home waiting for news, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting to know what to do next if it did. Every time the phone rang, I held my breath as I lifted the receiver, Would it be Bruce’s voice on the other end? 

         By mid-morning I called Squad 41 to see if there was any word. A young firefighter answered the phone. I smiled as he commented that he was all alone and didn’t know anything. I could imagine his fellow firefighters telling him to stay there (at firehouse) and answer the phone but offering no other guidance to a newbie who had no clue. I requested we set up a schedule that they (Squad 41) would call us (wives of the unaccounted) twice a day whether there was anything to report or not. He thought that a good idea and promised to pass it along.          Firefighters showed up on my doorstep. The brotherhood whether FDNY or GWL or any other Fire Department were fulfilling their promise to care for the families. Many, covered in ash, looking exhausted, offered bagels, cold cuts, assistance in whatever form I requested and the assurance of “voids.” 

        Excerpt from No Surprises: navigating tragedy with faith, family and the FDNY

        Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments
      • A Free Day

        Posted at 8:00 am by missannsays, on September 11, 2020

        Once a month, Bruce and I sat with our calendars to coordinate life. I always ended that sit down with “No Surprises, let me know if it isn’t going to work, but no surprises.” As a mom, wife, small business owner, and church volunteer, I prided myself on being organized, prepared, in control of my life. 

        It was supposed to be get-a-few-things-done type of day. With my two daughters back in school, my firefighter husband on duty, and one more week until fall classes resumed at my dance studio, I was free to do as I pleased. The day started as most days did. To be able to ease into my day instead of being thrown into it I got up an hour before my daughters, to shower, let the dog out, get my thoughts together, and have my cup of tea.

         At 6:30am, Meghan staggered into the kitchen, arms at her sides, head down, still half asleep and stood in front of me for her morning hug and kiss on the forehead. At fourteen, Meghan was almost as tall as I was at 5’10”. Meghan, my second born and polar opposite of her older sister, wasn’t a morning person but watch out later in the day she became a force to be reckoned with.  

        Weeks earlier after freshmen orientation, Meghan had declared “By the time I have been at high school a month, everyone will know who I am. I kept asking if anyone knew Emily, and no one did. They are going to know me.” I didn’t doubt that for a moment. 

        Emily, my 17-year-old reserved, attentive child was starting her senior year and negotiated her schedule to allow for early dismissal. Bruce and I informed her that early dismissal required her to volunteer somewhere or get a part time job.

        “Mom, don’t forget I have that Red Cross meeting this evening. Are we coming home before that?”

        “Probably not. We’ll run errands or visit Nanny & Poppy” 

        Meghan chimed in “What’s happening to me?” 

        “Still sorting that out. Daddy will probably bring you home. Let’s go girls.”

        The target time to leave the house each school day was 7:15am. My daughters attended Eastern Christian High School in North Haledon, New Jersey – which was thirty miles away so driving them to school wasn’t simply around the corner or down the block or the other side of town. It was over the river and through the woods to another state we go. Even though school was miles from home, it was near to my studio making me available for drop offs, pick-ups and emergencies during the day. 

                    As I turned into the circular driveway, I commented “Make sure you have all of your stuff. Em, I’ll see you at early dismissal time. Meg, I’ll see you at regular time. Have a good day. Love you.”

                    Next stop, my dance studio to quickly check the mail, and answering machine messages, and then home for my free morning. Can’t wait. Finding nothing that needed my attention, I got in my car to leave and the radio came on.

         “…a small plane has flown into the World Trade Center.” 

        As I put the car into reverse, looked over my shoulder and backed up the radio news anchor continued.

        “…a second plane has hit the World Trade Center” 

         What? I pulled back into the parking space and sat a moment. I turned up the volume.   Maybe that Nelson Demille book I just read is really happening – pilots are being blinded. No, that’s not possible!

                    Home seemed like where I needed to be. I was operating on auto-pilot. As I merged onto Route 208, the FDNY issued a total recall. 

        “All firefighters report for duty.”

         I knew the FDNY doesn’t call firefighters into work via the radio. This was bad, really bad. We must be at war but with whom? As I drove my thoughts were more on what the news reports than on the road, thankfully I had driven this route so many times that I think my muscle memory knew it better than my mind. The radio continued to drone on and I started to pray. Lord, protect Bruce. Bring him home. I knew he would be sent down there. 

        Bruce was a firefighter in a Special Operations Command (SOC) unit, a Squad. Squad 41 to be exact. Squad 41 ventured into Manhattan from the Bronx on a regular basis. I’ve joked that firefighters in Squads (and Rescues) do things they don’t tell their wives. It is bad enough that your firefighter husband runs into burning buildings. You don’t want to know he hung from a building, crawled around in a confided space, or suffered exposure to a biohazard all in the name of an average day in a Squad or Rescue Unit.      

        When I arrived home, I threw my purse on the chair, grabbed the remote, plopped down on the couch as I turned on the television. The news professionals appeared as rattled and puzzled as I was. The images were baffling and then reports out of Washington, DC. What, now? The images of a plane crashing into the Pentagon flashed on the screen. I started to pray again. Lord, please protect my country. Please protect New York City.

         I paced, pleaded, prayed, and the television kept reporting additional events. One of the twin towers collapsed; another plane crashed in Pennsylvania; the other tower collapsed. 

         I remembered in the Old Testament how Abraham prayed for a city to be saved. He asked God if there were one hundred righteous people to save the city and worked down to ten people and finally one person. I figured I had no time to waste so I prayed if there was one righteous person in New York City, please save my city. I suggested to God that Dr. Mucci, District Superintendent for the Church of Nazarene, would probably qualify as the one person. 

                    I was worried that my brother or brother-in-law might be traveling for business or be in New York City. I tried to make several calls to my parents in New Jersey and sister in New York. No calls would go through. 

        “All circuits are busy, please try again later.”

        Suddenly my house phone rang.

                    “Mom, where is Daddy?” It was Emily. 

        “I don’t know.” I must hold it together until Bruce is home. “I don’t expect to hear from Daddy. He doesn’t usually call when he is on duty. We’ll call the firehouse later if we haven’t heard from him by the time he is off duty. Okay? Find your sister and I’ll pick you both up at early release time. I love you. See you in a little while.” 

        People have asked me why didn’t I get my girls from school when I first heard about the attacks? Why drive all the way home? To be honest, it never dawned on me to get them from school. I think I believed that if the girls were at school, Bruce was on duty and I was at my dance studio or home, it was all normal. And I desperately needed for it to be normal. For it to be all right.        

                     The phone rang again. 

        “Hi, it’s Barbara. Is Bruce on duty?” 

        It was my sister who I hadn’t spoken to in a very long time. Since Barbara lived in California, I guess we had never mentioned the house rule of not calling to ask me if Bruce was on duty when you hear of a fire on the television or radio. Who would have thought she would know about a fire in NYC?  I was grateful to hear her voice.  Bruce will be so surprised that Barbara called. I can’t wait to tell him.

                    My thoughts of getting something done or being free to do as I pleased were forgotten. I wasn’t sure what I should do. The television didn’t seem to have any new information. I couldn’t make phone calls. As much as I wanted to be home earlier, being home now felt isolating. It wasn’t even early release time, so I couldn’t pick up Emily and Meghan, or so I thought.  

        I decided to drive back to the studio to see Carol, my best friend and business partner. She is “my person.” We can talk for hours, or we sit with a cup of tea and not say a word. Through life’s mountains and valleys, she’s walked with me. We double dated in our teens and twenties. We stood up for each other when we got married. When I started my business, New School of Dance Arts, Carol taught for me. After the first year, I asked her if she wanted to be my business partner. At the time, there were one hundred dollars in the studio checkbook. I told her if she matched the hundred dollars, we would be equal partners in the business. Her hubby, Tony, calls us “partners in crime.” Tony and many others chuckled at our lack of business savvy “that’s not how you buy into a business,” but Carol and I’ve been business partners since 1976 so I guess we’ve done something right.

                    I retraced the same route I had driven earlier. But this time, as I approached the top of Skyline Drive, I noticed there were cars parked on the shoulder. People standing outside their cars. What are they doing?  As the road reached the crest of the mountain, my question was answered. The New York City skyline came into view. Looking far to the right, you can usually see Lower Manhattan. Instead, there was a big cloud of smoke where the buildings had been. Had I seen the towers earlier? 

                    I entered the studio to find Carol sitting at the table with brochures, registration forms, and schedules arranged in front of her. 

        “Your Dad called more than once. He wants you to call him,” were the first words out of her mouth.

         I put my purse on the gymnastic mats and reached for the wall phone. A brief conversation with my Dad ended with a promise to stop by after I had picked up the girls. Carol and I discussed all that we knew about the attacks. We switched gears to focus on studio stuff -what classes we needed to confirm, cancel, etc. 

          “I will call you when I hear from Bruce.” I walked out the door. Not realizing that I wouln’t walk back through that door until Monday, October 1 when classes finally began.

                    Over the last three years, I had regularly dropped Emily off or picked her up at school but rarely entered the building. Having been an ever-present parent during Emily’s preschool and elementary school days (I taught at the same preschool and elementary school she attended), I had made the conscience decision to step back and allow Emily to be her own person minus the role of Miss Ann’s daughter. But today, like so many other things, that changed. I went into the front office.

                    “Hi, I am Ann Van Hine. Emily has early release. I also want to sign out Meghan.”

                    “Of course, let me see what class Meghan is in. Emily should be heading this way to sign out.”    

        The ride to my parents’ house was full of questions with no answers but assurances of love and faith. We arrived at my parents’ home nine miles away to find my Dad sitting at the far side of the dining room table giving the impression he was holding court. My Mom, not thrilled with my Dad’s favorite spot, wanted her table back for meals, but it had become his desk. Dad tried to reassure my girls that Bruce couldn’t have gotten from the Bronx to Lower Manhattan before the towers collapsed. My Dad is an engineer and physicist so thinking things through logically was what he did but even as my Dad explained his reasoning, I knew he was wrong. My Dad wasn’t tuning into the fact that Bruce, in a Squad, would have been dispatched earlier rather than later. 

        Days later, my Dad mentioned that he hadn’t considered the Squad dynamic and asked, “Why didn’t you correct me?” 

        “I couldn’t correct you in front of the girls.”

        Emily and I discussed the Red Cross meeting. She called to see if it was still on. The answer was no. We hung out a little longer. Then decided to head home. As I drove up Route 17, in my rearview mirror for a brief moment I saw the New York City skyline. I saw the smoke, and mentally, I willed my girls not to turn around. When we got home, we turned the television on for a short time. We tried to do our daily routine. Time slowed or stopped or something, but was not moving as in a normal day.

                    By the late afternoon, I spoke with my sister-in-law, Bobbie, Bruce’s sister. She was at my mother-in-law’s home in South Jersey about three hours away. One of my greatest fears had been how would I tell Bruce’s mom something happened to him? My father-in-law died ten years prior. My mother-in-law lived alone, and Bobbie lived in Kansas, but on September 11, 2001 Bobbie just happened to be in New Jersey for a friend’s wedding. So as all this happened my 82-year-old mother-in-law was not alone. Thank you, Lord.

        Around 7:00pm, I went into my bedroom to call Squad 41. The answering machine picked up. I left a message “Please have Bruce Van Hine call his wife.” I didn’t wait long before I called again. “Please have anyone call Bruce Van Hine’s wife.” 

        I called my folks. I told my Dad that no one was answering the phone at Squad 41. When my ever-calm Dad said, “Call every number you have for the New York City Fire Department until you reach a human being.” I was freaked. I grabbed the FDNY phone list off the back of the basement door and headed to my bedroom out of ear shot of my girls. I glanced down at the list, saw Bronx and dialed Bronx Dispatch. The firefighter who answered explained that this was the number to report fires and kindly suggested that I keep calling Squad 41. 

        Eventually I got through to someone at Squad 41 who said “No one is here. They went to look for them. They will be in touch when they get back.” This can’t be happening. 

                    Around 10:00pm I decided we should all get some sleep so Emily, Meghan and our 130 lb. Rottweiler, Buster, piled into my bed. I had a feeling that someone was coming to the house and didn’t want to be in my pajamas, so I stayed dressed. I laid with my girls until they were asleep. Then I got up. 

        I paced, prayed and made a cup of tea. Growing up a “cup of tea” was the quick fix for whatever was happening. A cup of tea could calm you down or cheer you up. My Mom is British so making tea was a ritual. I followed that ritual as I boiled water, heated the pot, steeped the tea and placed the tea cozy over the pot. I poured the milk in the cup first, added one sugar and poured the brewed tea. I sat on the couch cradling my warm cup of tea in my hands and waited for what I didn’t know, but I waited. 

                    At a little before midnight, I heard a car pull up, a car door close and then another. Even though the street light allowed me a glimpse of who was heading to my house through one of the three small windows in my front door, I decided I didn’t want to know. I held my breath and sat perfectly still. Maybe they aren’t coming here. Please don’t be coming here. There was a light knock on the side door. Whoever it is knows we use the side kitchen door instead of the front door. Standing outside were two men – Charlie who was Bruce’s lieutenant and another firefighter, the identity of that firefighter changes in my memory. 

                    I positioned myself between the kitchen and living room leaning with my shoulder against the doorway. Hopefully the house will hold me up if they say something bad. Polite greetings and then silence. I couldn’t stand the suspense “Just say it.”

        Charlie whispered, “They are unaccounted for.” 

          Unaccounted for? wait? what?

                    In an almost out of body experience I heard myself say “I have no doubt God can get me through this, but I don’t want to go through this.”  

        I don’t want to. How many times through the years had my own kids and my students said those exact same words? How many times had I chimed in “most of life has nothing to do with what you want to do? I don’t want to pay taxes or do laundry, but I do.” 

        There wasn’t a sense of dread. Just a sense of this is really happening. Now what? Charlie, the other firefighter and I sat at the kitchen table as Charlie filled me in on what they knew which wasn’t much. Charlie offered assistance, a prayer, a hug and they left. 

        I locked the door and tiptoed down the hallway towards my bedroom. I hoped and prayed that the girls were asleep and hadn’t heard the exchange with Charlie. They seemed to be asleep, so I went back into the kitchen to make a few calls. 

         I called Debbie who is a pastor but first and foremost, one of my best friends. I asked her to contact Pastor Steve and other friends in the morning. As we spoke I glanced out the window and noticed a man walking down the street. There was a moment I wondered if it was real and commented to Debbie “there is a guy walking down the street.” It reminded me of a scene from a movie – the late hour, the single streetlight glowing. It felt eerie. Years later in conversation Debbie mentioned the guy walking down the street and added “I think it was Bruce checking on things.”

                     I called my parents. Shared what I knew. 

        “We’ll drive up.”

         “No, it’s too late. Come tomorrow. I’m okay. Love you.”

        I checked on my daughters again and realized Emily was awake. I motioned to her to come into the living room. We sat on the living room floor. Within moments Meghan and the dog appeared in the doorway. They joined us on the floor. 

        “Charlie was here. Daddy is unaccounted for.”

        We cried. 

        We hugged. 

        We prayed. 

        We got back in bed. 

        Once the girls were asleep I got up again. I made another pot of tea.

        “Sorrow lasts for a night but joy cometh in the morning” kept running through my head. I needed to see the sun rise. I waited for the new day. I waited for the darkness to be replaced by light. I waited until the sun had risen and then I laid down to sleep. There was another day…

        Excerpt from No Surprises: navigating tragedy with faith, family and the FDNY.

        Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment | Tagged September 11
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