On this day, at almost exactly this very moment 16 years ago, our world changed forever.

The following is a commemorative post I wrote on September 11, 2011. I’d like to re-share it with you today:

Like most adults, I woke today filled with memories of that other morning, ten years ago, almost to the moment.

It had been a period of loss for our family. First my mother, unexpectedly at the age of 69 in early 2000. Next a dear aunt, then another — sisters of my mother. Then, on September 3, 2001, my husband Alex lost a beloved aunt, followed the very next day, September 4, by his father, Donald Carrick.

We returned to work on the morning of Monday, September 11 after a week of funerals. Already saddened, but relieved, at least, to put the heaviest of our grief behind us and get back to our normal routines.

It was just past 9 am. My office phone rang. It was one of my staff, a young lady, calling to say she would be a little late. “But Donna,” she added, “there’s something wrong in New York City. I don’t know what, but something’s happened at The Towers.”

I won’t pretend her first words chilled me. I had no idea, after all, what they meant. But her next sentences gave me pause. “It’s really scary,” she said. “Everything here is too quiet. There are no planes in the air — none.”

I put the phone down. I work for a major media organization, and at that time we were still connected with Canwest at the 1450 Don Mills Road building. I ran from my office on the 2nd floor up a half flight toward the big news screen on the 3rd floor.

Within moments, almost 200 of my friends and co-workers had joined me. In absolute silence we watched the newsman as he struggled to make sense of the first impact. He, and we, thought it must have been an accident. He spoke in reverence, pausing to find the right words. Clearly it was not a typical news report. He was just a guy with a microphone and a camera, trying to tell the world what had happened.

And then, before our eyes, in one flash of horror, the unthinkable occurred. The second plane. As he spoke, facing the camera, behind his head we saw it pass, turn, and collide with the second tower.

And we all knew.

There was no cry of horror in our building. No stifled collective gasp — no outrage spoken in words.

There was only a deep, unbroken silence as the knowledge flooded us.

During the days that followed our hearts broke time and again, with each new discovery, each fresh image that was presented to us. We were filled with an unprecedented grief, and a love for our brothers and sisters in New York City.

The phrase “Ground Zero” came into our language. But we know the damage of that day was not isolated to the towers. Not at all. Its impact ripples to this day through the hearts and minds of people everywhere. None are left untouched.

So here we are in Canada on a beautiful Toronto morning. What has changed in our world?

Ten years have come…and gone. A heightened sense of security worldwide has restricted our freedoms in ways we might never have imagined. We’ve suffered suspicion… against our neighbours, from our neighbours. Friendships have grown, or have been set aside. Babies have been born, and loved ones have died.

But that moment, standing with hundreds of my co-workers, friends all, entrenched in the silent horror of first awareness, before even the newsman knew for sure…..

…that was a pivotal moment.

A moment that cannot be erased, nor can it be trivialized, nor should it ever be.

All that has come to pass since that day has been acted on an altered stage.

And now, ten years later, we still seek peace. Too elusive. Too vague a concept. Our global psyche too cluttered with offenses given and received, too filled with suspicion and hatred. Forgive us our trespasses, as we will forgive those who trepass….

Instead of a day committed to reliving that horror, as if anyone could or would ever forget, I pray we will dedicate this day to seeking peaceful solutions to our differences.

That’s my fervent wish on this day, ten years to the moment later.

Donna Carrick
September 11, 2011

Thank you, Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton.

Thank you for your many years of service, hard work and dedication, in the face of relentless accusations, slander and misunderstanding.

Thank you for fighting always for women and children, for minorities, for the handicapped, the GLBTQ community and for the vulnerable who require affordable health care.

Thank you for enduring disrespect, insult and threats the like of which no candidate before you has withstood. Thank you for standing your ground with dignity, for holding women to a higher aspiration, a higher purpose.

And now America has spoken. So we must move forward.

Will we forget that glass ceiling? Will we return to complacency, accepting life in second-class land?

Or will we carry that torch forward?

I hope, I pray that this is just one more beginning. One more step along the way.

We woke up on the wrong side of history this morning, in more than one way.

Only time will tell HOW wrongly this history will spin out.

The world has survived worse.

We will rise, dust off our pantsuits, and try again.

Me, I refuse to entertain hatred, fear and bigotry. These are not my touchstones.

My love to all, and best wishes for the coming years.

Donna Carrick

Dear Readers:

I have a real treat for you. No, not a new book release. Not even a short story or a poem.

Instead, I’d like to share this video of Ted Carrick, guitarist extraordinaire!

Hope it brings a smile to your face and sets your body to dance mode!

Happy Rocking, one and all…

I wasn’t going to blog about this.

After all, it’s just one of those strange cosmic coincidences, the kind we all experience at one time or another.

Memories of a wild child, defined by a heartbeat in time.

I had planned to slot it into the mental file marked “Well, all-rightie then” and leave it at that.

But the cosmos wouldn’t allow me to ignore it. The morning after I’d made my decision to let it slide, that song, the one I’m talking about, by Wild Cherry, came on the radio. Yup. Just like that, coincidence was compounded by coincidence, forcing me to pay attention.

So here’s my story, for what it’s worth…

As many of my readers know, I was emancipated (left home) at the age of fifteen.

In those days, the local pubs were not overly cautious about serving liquor to minors. Most didn’t ask for ID, and didn’t look too closely if it was flashed in front of them.

On or near my 16th birthday, my then fiancé and a group of friends took me out to the El Mocambo.

(At least I believe it was my 16th birthday. I’ve tried to support my memory by fact-checking, but have had no luck. So let’s go with my memory for now, until it’s proven wrong…)

In the El Mo of my memory, that Spring night, a band I cannot recall was playing hits by Wild Cherry. I remember being thrilled when they launched into “Play That Funky Music (White Boy)”, which was an epic smash at the time.

And there was dancing, and singing…

So there was yours truly, drinking underage with my soon-to-be first husband and grooving to that funky music with a packed house.

(As you read on, you’ll see what a tribute it is to the genius and staying power of Rob Parissi and Wild Cherry, the fact they’ve been able to touch our lives for so very long…)

Fast forward 40 years.

Last weekend, on Feb. 6, my husband Alex and I got all poshed up for a gala dinner/dance event at the Liberty Grand, hosted by Ellis Don and the TCA.

The food and company were stellar, as was the wine.

Then came the after-dinner dancing. Alex and I made our way to the floor.

When what to my wondering ears should appear, but that same old song?

Yup, that’s right. Hubby and I found ourselves “grooving to the music”, as the event’s band revved up with “Play That Funky Music” by Wild Cherry.

And I couldn’t help but think: All right, now I know I’ve come full circle. If I die tonight, I’ll know I’ve lived, and on my own terms, always feeling the beat of life.

I don’t know why it struck me this way. Maybe it’s because that night 40 years ago was a defining one for me, and the memory of it stands in sharp contrast to my older, more mellow self.

Maybe it’s because, under the mellow, and under the wisdom, there still resides, deep in my soul, the rebel, the individualist, the renegade who will not say uncle to life.

Somewhere in my soul that wild child rocks on…

FOOTNOTE: When I was researching for this story, I had originally mistakenly thought the El Mo had actually featured the band Wild Cherry that night.

Thanks to the kind help of Rob Parissi, band leader and songwriter, I was able to establish they never did play in Toronto.

Believe me, I wish they had!

Also, I credit the crazy energy of bands like this for the wonderful musical talent and love our two sons have been able to nurture in their lives.