When TR was born, the hospital gave me a little tube of Lanolin to use for breastfeeding discomfort. That little tube came in very handy for quite some time. I bought another one when SW was born. Lanolin has a distinctive scent to it, not unpleasant, but very distinctive. I’m sure to many people it, of course, brings to mind flocks of sheep, or maybe a barnyard scene.

To me, lanolin smells like elephants.

Weird, isn’t it? All these years I never figured out the why of that. But now again, with RM, lanolin is definitely a staple in this house. First for the early days adjusting to breastfeeding. And second as a treatment for wool diaper covers to keep them nice and moisture resistant. Working with new, quality raw wool yarns I catch the same scent and the same memory of elephants. Every time I wash out and hang up a diaper cover, I think of elephants.

These days I have the internet at hand and all the research tools I want, so I set about to see if I could make any sense of my odd association. And what do you know, I discovered that many zoos use an “elephant shampoo” that’s rich in lanolin to condition the elephant’s skin. It makes perfect sense now, as I also have a memory of a girl scout trip to the zoo so many years ago, and seeing the elephants getting their baths.

It’s always nice to solve a life-long mystery like that. It definitely makes me feel a little less weird too.

I remember Peter Jennings voice saying the second tower was falling. The sorrow, the hopelessness.

I remember trying to explain everything to my children.

I remember empty, clear blue skies.

I remember the very first image I saw, early in the morning, and how the scale of what was happening totally escaped me.

I remember not being able to get the words out over the phone to make V understand what was happening.

I remember people clustered together, gathered around televisions and radios, leaning on each other for answers that weren’t there, and for comfort that was.

I remember that there was politics and blame and anger, sides to take and arguments to make and discussion that would never end. But today isn’t the day to remember that part.

Today is the day to remember wives and husbands, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, friends and loved ones. It’s the day to remember heroes, both standing and fallen. It’s the day to remember ordinary people on the most extraordinary day of their lives. It’s the day to remember people with so much to live for on the last day of their lives.

It’s a day to pay respect.