Ding, Dong, Bin Laden's Dead!

          Call me a cynic: I didn’t rejoice upon hearing of the demise of Bin Laden.  I’d rather he had been taken alive.  I’m even sorry Sadam Hussain was executed. I wish he were in jail.  This is not because I’m a compassionate person who doesn’t believe in capital punishment, or killing our enemies. It’s because I want the evil doers to suffer. I took great satisfaction seeing photographs of a disheveled Sadam Hussain hiding in his hole.

          I praise and commend the individuals in the intelligence service who worked so hard to make sure they knew where they were going and how they pulled if off. I hope that by confiscating the computers this will impede whoever was linked-in to that particular terrorist network.

          I do think about the women and children who were in the compound, though.  What must it have been like to live a sequestered life? We’ve seen it before from cults right here in America.  That’s one of the reasons I was so fascinated by “Big Love”, the HBO series about plural marriage.  What must it be like to be so devoted to -- or held prisoner by – a charismatic figure head?

          Perhaps some of the children never saw the outside world, like the narrator of Emma Donoghue’s brilliant novel, Room.  But aren’t all of us, more or less contained in our own reality rooms?  How big is your room? Which windows do you choose to look out?  Which windows do you keep closed?

          My “room” hasn’t changed all that much in my life in spite of having traveled to Asia, Europe, South America; in spite of having been married, divorced, single fifteen years then married again (going on 19 years!).  My life is measured out pretty much like J. Alfred Prufrock’s, in spoons, coffee cups, glasses of wine.

          Lately, writing my memoir, I’ve focused my attention on certain periods of my life that were fraught with emotion – happiness or sorrow. First love!  First heartache.  Becoming a woman! Realizing the responsibilities of being an adult.

          When a rare day, or week, comes that I’m not on an emotional roller coaster because of the anxieties of life – worry about my mother, husband, friends, finances, the world – I seek out books or movies or memories that reunite me with the adrenaline-inducing thoughts that make me feel alive.

          Lately I’ve taken great pleasure in making collage greeting cards. This is one of the rare times I slow down and focus on a simple task that blots out the world of terrorists and tornadoes, and lets me live peacefully in the moment with the regular rhythm of my heart the only music I need to hear.