Out of sight, out of mind

Out of sight, out of mind.
Last month we sent our son to New York.  That's New York state. Upstate New York.  College.

We try to keep in touch, which isn't hard these days with all the different social media.  We say good morning and good night all almost every day.

On the other hand, out of sight, out of mind.  I don't come home and see him around the house.  Or visa versa.  So it's not bad, because we don't argue.  But I do miss him.  And it troubles me sometimes that he's out of my mind, because I don't see him, except on some digital image on my mobile device.
Today is 11 Sept 2015.  Fourteen years ago the day was infamous as nine eleven, the day several individuals with a deadly passion carried out their mission by taking control of airline jets and ramming them into New York's vertical real estate.

I had almost forgotten about it, because I live 8,000 miles away from the place that issued my California drivers licence.  Out of sight, out of mind.  I need to be reminded, while I take a few days off in Malaysia with its weak currency that my country men and women are flying flags at half-mast in memory of those who died that day.




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