September 2, 2007
I was a bit sickened when I open up the New York Times this morning, and even though I must admit that this was not a rare event, sometimes the burdens of my job seem much too difficult to bare. My daily routine is to attack the Times and Washington Post during my first coffees, cleanse my palate with a little 'FOX and Friends', then savor the Washington Times and Wall Street Journal with a spicy Bloody Mary. But it's getting harder, and I must lay the blame for my unease squarely at the feet of Rupert Murdoch.
Yes, Mister Murdoch, you have allowed 'FOX and Friends' to become a mere shadow of itself. Just last Thursday I was aghast to find Gretchen Carlson in the FOX kitchen with Rachael Ray! Mother of God! They were cooking up something with asparagus and ham that no sane man would think of putting into his stomach at nine-thirty in the morning. That is not the kind of hard-boiled news coverage we need, Mister Murdoch.
Back to the NYT. Front page, below the fold, is the title of an article that causes me to read twice with disbelieving eyes - "As 9/11 Draws Near, a Debate Rises: How Much Tribute Is Enough?" Just to ask such a question is to blaspheme. How much is enough? Nothing is 'enough'; the word has no meaning in this context. Our warrior president pays tribute every day in every way, so that we may be free from this horrible burden for fifty-one weeks a year. Are there those amongst us callous enough that they would avoid by choice the seven days of public mourning? Jesus wept.
Mourning is what make us human, the very stick that stirs the coals inside our hearts, releasing the flames of fear and anger that still lie smoldering. This is how it should be, and those who doubt may be very ones who lay in wait to smother out what warmth is left. More coals, America!
This hateful piece of print by N. R. Kleinfield (stands for Not Republican is my bet) arrived before my unwilling eyes just days before I celebrate a day of mourning of my own - September 5th, the eighth anniversary of my double bypass. Would someone say that September 5th, the day of my myocardial infarction when the collapse of the twin towers of my heart sent the Rutherford family to the brink of disaster and caused me to wither away three weeks in a god forbidden hospital bed should be forgotten? I say not, for my heart attack was life, as much a part of me as the two silver stints I keep always close inside.
This is a time to remember sacrifices. I
can't do blow and KFC is off my list, but my suffering is small compared to
the suffering of so many who lost a loved one on that fatal day, or gave up
a few trinkets of liberty so that the country as a whole can kindle the
spark to fan the fire to burn away the veils of darkness that hides the
flame of eternal vigilance.
Frank J Rutherford
©2007, Mark Hoback