I’ve been ruminating on the death of journalist Tim Russert. He died on Friday at the Washington D.C. studios of NBC at the age of 58 of a heart attack. It was so weird when I heard the news. I was at my parents home, watching the news at my parents kitchen table. When I got back to my own home, I thought about all of the news that I had watched in my parents kitchen. I watched plane 2 hit the World trade Center and then I watched the Trade Center Towers collapse on Tuesday, September 11, 2001. I watched the 2004 election when Al Gore became the president that never was. I watched countless Boston Red Sox baseball games at that kitchen table. (Baseball games that have led to 2 World Series troophies in the past couple of years, I’d like to add.) I guess I never thought about how I associate places with memories before.
