On 9/11, 'We are OK; our city is not'

We had Passover once at Windows on the World, the spectacular restaurant on the 107th floor of the World Trade Center, with views of Manhattan, Brooklyn and New Jersey. It was a big treat.

Sometimes we went out on Jewish holidays to give my mother a break from doing it. Our apartment was small. Sometimes we extended the dining room table with a bridge table or made a children's table in our bedroom. It could turn into a large group including our extended family. I remember getting dressed up to go to Windows on the World, and then the long ride up in the elevator.

Ben was in kindergarten, Joe still a tiny little thing.

Ben had been fascinated (OK, obsessed) with presidents. On his bookshelf, books about sports and books about presidents. We read presidents' biographies. He had a presidents placemat, which I have kept all these years.

When we passed Greenwich, Connecticut, on the way down to New York, he was so excited: President George Bush was from there. He even wanted to detour and drive around. I actually can't remember if we did. It would have been difficult because the parkways would have been jammed with people going to "the old country."

Ben could recite the presidents in order. My mother had him do it for the occasion. I can see him in his little bowl cut with bangs. If it was these days I might have made a Youtube video and turned him into a star. He was a star anyway.

My parents were at doctors' appointments on 9/11. They were walking up Fifth Avenue when a Good Samaritan got them a cab. My father had gotten unsteady at this time a little more than a year before his death. It was a minor miracle.

When I went to The Republican to do my part in the stories that we were all feeding to one reporter, I (also miraculously) got through to my cousin Bruce in New York. He told me that my parents had gotten home to the apartment on upper Fifth Avenue, from which you could see the smoke downtown.

"We are OK," Bruce said. "Our city is not."

My father sat on my living room couch months later in the spot near the window where he liked to read The New York Times in the morning sun.

"The bastards," he said.

What they had done to our city. It was, and is, a living thing to us. I haven't lived there for a long time, but it is still my city. I wasn't there, but yet I was.

Compared to all the tragedy, this was, and is, incredibly minor. But I was so sad that he saw the destruction and he never saw our city repaired. At least my mother had that.

On 9/11, 79 employees of that spectacular restaurant in the sky lost their lives. They were among 2,753 who died in New York, out of a total of 2,996 in the country.

Up close with Hillary Clinton (in a dream)

In my dream I went to a Hillary Clinton rally where she was effervescent and smiling and dancing around with people, a combination of jitterbug and ballet. The opposite of uptight.

She came near me and I asked if I could have a photo. She said, "If I'd have known you wanted to take my photo, I wouldn't have come with tennis hair." In fact it was a little mussed up with a little flip in the back put I patted it down and said, "You look fine."

Someone came around and asked if it was an official photo, because, if so, it would have to be approved. I said no, just for me.

She stood next to me. I said, "My sister went to a fundraiser for you and said you were really great." She couldn't remember, but one of her people reminded her that it was in Boston not too long ago.

I gave someone the camera but then other people crowded in and started trying to insert themselves in the photo. One was waving his arms around so much that he was blocking Hillary and me. The photographer gave up and when I looked at the photos, everyone was crowding in and you couldn't see us.  (Dream as political analysis: Let Hillary be herself.)

I REALLY wanted that photo, so I told her, "Oh, let me just take a selfie. It will be better than what that guy took." She patiently said OK. But the light was too bright and I couldn't find the little camera icon to switch it. Then my iPhone started going crazy. It was stuck on other peoples' Instagram photos and I was banging on it and trying to get it to switch modes, but I couldn't do it.

Hillary went and sat on a doorstep. She was close enough that I could go over and try again, but someone said to leave her alone, she wants some quiet time before her speech. Reluctantly, I said, "OK, she's going to be president and at least I can say I saw her up close."

This is what happens when you read/watch/think/converse politics. You're going to walk away but then you get engaged in this: Sanders calls for ouster of Clinton campaign allies

Two hours later, Democratic officials reject the request.

You think you'll go walk the dog. You give it a try but it is in the upper 90s. The dog is panting and you are sweating. You go back to your computer just to take a peek. You really need to read that book, but you don't get past the first page. In your dream, you work it out.