There are only two real Tuesdays in September, in my estimation.
There’s the Tuesday after Labor Day, and then there’s the Tuesday after that, which will always be filled in my mind with the images of the smoke and dust of the twin towers, the first week of my son’s Kindergarten class, the horror on the faces of the people who had left our shores on Labor Day only to return to the hell that became of Manhattan next week 13 years ago.
This Tumbleweed Tuesday wasn’t all too tumbleweedy. In the morning fog before dawn on the South Fork, the trade parade was heading east, and an equally insistant line of luxury cars headed wastward toward the city. By the time the fog burned off, it looked like we were facing what could be the hottest day of the summer. Our summer.
One day before the school bells ring and all of this becomes a distant memory.