Everyone remembers where they were on “9/11”.

Fifteen years ago today, I sat in my office and watched (on TV) as a second plane flew into the World Trade Center in NYC. I watched in horror as the collective “we” realized our nation was under attack.

September 11, 2001 was primary day in New York State. I dashed out of work at noon and went to vote, then came back to the office. A few minutes later, the governor closed the polls. The primaries would be rescheduled.  (That was the year I voted for a certain candidate for mayor three times: twice in primaries and once in the general election.)

I worked in local TV at the time. You might think that local broadcasting had nothing to do on that awful day. But we did. People always call local newsrooms when there is a major breaking event. I didn’t work in the newsroom, although several of us took turns helping the news department answer the phones. I was in programming and was fielding my own share of viewer questions. The networks had suspended all programming for continuing coverage of breaking news. The behind-the-scenes non-news part of TV was a mess.

One phone call in particular has stuck with me. Memories of that phone call still have the power to infuriate me. I was polite to the caller, when the caller didn’t deserve politeness.

“So, are you going to air Big Brother or what?” (One of the things I love about my new Day Job is not having to answer phones.)

What are your memories of this horrific day?

On the 4th of July, I decided to stop wearing make-up for the summer. I usually go all out for Day Job, but with the 80+ degree heat, putting foundation, powder, blush etc. on my face had the same effect as pouring the stuff down the drain.

I had no idea how freeing it would be.

I know. Silly, isn’t it? But that’s about 10 minutes in the morning  I get back. Ten minutes I can write.

That’s the ability to rub my eyes when I’m tired and not worry about the cosmetic outcome.

That’s me, re-emerging from the corporate me that ruled my life for so long.

So I have to make a decision about Tuesday morning, when my Day Job’s Summer Dress Code is no longer in effect. Putting on make-up isn’t the same things as the males having to put on ties again. Ties are part of the uniform. Make-up is for . . . enhancement, which is something about which I know longer care.

I’m a wash-and-go woman. I don’t fuss with my hair (gave that up years ago). I don’t even blow dry my hair. My stylist does a fabulous job with the cut and color. I just have to show up at her salon every 6 weeks or so.

I asked my friends, just for input. They don’t like the way they look without make-up, so they wear it. Which is fine.

I asked my husband what he thought. Non-issue for him. His opinion (besides my own) is the only one that matters to me.

There are a lot of things about getting older that suck. Reading glasses. Aches and pains. But being more comfortable and accepting of my body–which includes my face–isn’t one of them.