Don't forget

I walked home from school dropoff with a friend yesterday, the day after a tornado ripped through central Oklahoma. My friend said she didn't feel as though she could explain one more tragedy to her 8-year-old daughter and had asked her husband to keep her away from the television. She also said she worries that the media too quickly forgets about earlier events.

I hope we won't soon forget about tornado victims in Oklahoma. NBC News has put together a list of organizations that are accepting donations, if you can help. And in Oklahoma, the media is doing a good job at finding and focusing on the heroes of the story, just as it did in Sandy Hook, Boston, and so many others. Boston, meanwhile, is doing its own good job remembering those affected by the events of April 15. On Saturday, under the name #onerun, anyone who wasn't able to finish the marathon will get a chance to meet at the "one mile left" mark and run together the final leg of the race. Of course, there will be spectators along the way cheering them on. Boston wouldn't have it any other way.

(Photo by Jennifer Green.)

Thoughts

To go on a family vacation and be able to read a book (or two) all the way through is a wonderful thing. I had been looking forward to both "Autobiography of Us" by Aria Beth Sloss and "Frances and Bernard" by Carlene Bauer, and I liked the first but loved the latter. One reviewer said he thought the ending was a bit of a letdown, but I disagree. I've gone back several times to reread the last page.

The elementary school that two of my children go to is celebrating National Poetry Month with what it calls "Poem in a Pocket Day." Every child is to write or find a poem that takes no longer than 30 seconds to read or recite and keep that poem in his or her pocket, ready to share if someone asks. While I won't name names, one of us was a little more enthusiastic about this project than the other, but both ended up with poems I think are "very them" folded (or stuffed) in their pockets. This is what I might choose if someone asked me to put a poem in my pocket.

I enjoyed this article in The New York Times Sunday Styles section (from a couple weeks back - still catching up) on conflict resolution in families, i.e. how to manage arguments and end up happier. The article includes several tips such as sitting in comfortable seats when discussing uncomfortable subjects; avoiding the word "you" in any discussion, such as "You never do this..."; and my personal favorite, the three-minute rule, which recognizes that the most important points can be made in the opening minutes. "After that, people repeat themselves at higher and higher decibels," the author says. For me, that's a hard one but a good one.

A little background on the photograph below, which is this month's Boston Magazine cover. According to the magazine, the original May cover was almost ready to go to print when the editors learned of the bombings in Boston. They quickly started over and came up with the idea of a heart composed of shoes worn in the marathon. They sent out posts on Facebook and Twitter asking runners if they would be willing to donate their shoes and to be interviewed about their experiences. Staffers also talked to friends and friends-of-friends until they had the 120 shoes you see below. I love this story, and I love this beautiful and touching cover.

Happy weekend.

(Photograph by Mitch Feinberg for Boston Magazine)

Home

It feels as though I've been away from this blog for a very long time. Last week was school vacation, and we flew out of Logan Airport the morning after the Boston Marathon, wondering if we were doing the right thing. As a friend said of her family, their feet were in the sand, but their hearts were at home. That was true of us, too.

Part of my silence over the past week was being away, but part was a struggle to find words. So much has been written about that day, so eloquently. As for me, I didn't run, I wasn't at the finish line, and everyone I knew who ran or watched from the end of the race eventually got home safely. I'm so grateful for that. Still, I'll share one impression from what I think of as "before," and one small anecdote from "after."

The official halfway point of the marathon is down the street from our house, and every year we love to watch the runners and wheelchair racers react to the 13-mile marker. Some raise their fists in a silent cheer, some grimace, most check their watches, and every single one keeps going. We'll keep going, too, as long as we live here. It's our tradition, and that won't change.

One week later, we were coming home from our trip, making our way through security. We were flying to Washington and from there on to Boston. I handed my driver's license to the security officer, who looked at it and then at me. In an accent I couldn't place, he asked me where in Massachusetts I live. I told him we live outside Boston. "I'm praying for you, you know," he said. Immediately, my eyes began to sting. "Thank you," I said.

"This is why we're a great country," he went on. "We're strong. And we support each other." I nodded, not trusting my voice, and we continued through security headed toward home.

(Photos from Boston.com)