In the daylight hours, we'd sift through the mess that remained in our house, but none of us felt safe enough to stay indoors overnight without electricity and with the threat of aftershocks doing further damage while we slept.

Still, we had food. We had water. We had toilets we could flush with buckets of water from our swimming pool. We could bathe. We had radios with batteries and cars with fuel and working engines we could run to keep us warm at night. We had no streetlights or TV or open supermarkets, but our week of inconvenience was nothing that could be described as desolation.

What I can relate to is the lack of communication family members and friends have been coping with in Haiti. (Or, at least my sister can. She was studying abroad in England when the earthquake hit and--upon seeing images on the news of the quake in her hometown 6,000 miles away--could not reach any of us by phone for a frantic couple of days.)

So, I can relate. And yet I can't. The magnitude of death and despair and desperate need for food, water and medical care are far beyond the realm of anything I can imagine. And yet the fear--that's something I know. I know the terror that explodes from within at the first rumbling of an aftershock. I know how hard it is to forget that deafening sound of the earth fiercely shaking, walls shifting, glass breaking, alarms and sirens going off, transformers exploding and fires burning across the city.

I know how it feels to wonder if you'll ever feel normal again, ever be able to go to sleep at night without the fear of being jerked awake (though one stroke of luck for the Haitians was that the quake happened in broad daylight--most won't have the added element of fear of darkness). I was always somewhat of an anxious person and I am well aware of the L.A. earthquake's effect on my general anxiety level. It changed my emotional and mental landscape, to be certain. But in spite of the fear I lived with for so long, I am fortunate enough to have walked away physically unscathed, as did my loved ones.

If only the people of Haiti could say the same.

In the often wacky world of weddings, brides are generally depicted and/or perceived as elated, joyful, even jubilant. Once the hectic wedding period is over, newlyweds fall into a state of bliss and ecstasy, gleefully opening gifts, setting up house and planning their idyllic future now that they’ve entered the coveted realm of marriage. It's all romance and sunshine and smiles.

What’s harder to find—on the myriad wedding websites, in countless books and magazines or anywhere else—is a realistic depiction of newly-married life. It's new. And it's scary and overwhelming and... did I mention new?

I have been married less than 2 months, so I am hardly a credible commentator on the joys or troubles of marriage. Last week, Jason asked me to share my feelings about this past month of our lives. I stumbled over my answer. Meanwhile, my new husband coolly asserted it has been the happiest month of his life, to which I smiled and remembered why I adore him so.

To say it has been a roller-coaster would be not only a cliché, but an understatement. My married friends warned me that the weeks leading up to the wedding (as well as the event itself) go by in a blur of planning, organizing, preparing and coordinating and finally, celebrating. We excitedly counted down the days to our wedding, only to have the day spring itself on us as if unannounced, then whizzing by in a magical haze of hugs, kisses, handshakes and clinking glasses.

Then, our parents and siblings left town, along with various other relatives and friends making their way back to the west coast or points elsewhere. We got our gifts put away, thank-you cards written, follow-up phone calls made, house straightened out, rings resized. Things seemed to settle down and return to normal for us. With one minor exception: we are now legally bound to one another. Our lives are intertwined in a way they've never been with anyone else before, involving our families, our finances, our health and everything in between.

As someone who has always relished her independence and enjoyed, for the most part, her singlehood, I've struggled with conflicting emotions: The joy and elation of sharing my life with someone I intend to stick with and whose company I intend to enjoy until I'm too old to enjoy much else, coupled with anxiety over sharing my life so completely and openly with another human being. I'm aware that this is my own crap and I'm dealing with it. And when I'm feeling overwhelmed by it all, I just remember I'm not the first, the second or even the millionth newlywed to experience these emotions.

Then, I cuddle up to my husband and wrap my arms around him and everything else falls away. That's when I know it's all worth it.

The flowers exploded in rich, fall color around the perimeter of the fountain and nary a cloud appeared in the bluest of skies. "Lucky" is too small a word to describe how we felt (and how I'm sure our 80 guests felt, enjoying the glorious garden without the need for umbrellas!).

It was a truly perfect day and I'm still slightly dazed and emotional three days later. Countless thoughts, images and emotions swirling around in my head today... I know I'll need to get them all out sooner or later! Meanwhile, thanks to everyone for the warm wishes of luck and congratulations. We are truly blessed.

The Do's & Don'ts of 99-cent Store Shopping

DO BUY

Spices and herbs: Canadian-based Encore makes FDA-approved seasonings, spices and herbs you can find at many Brooklyn dollar stores.

Gift wrap: The recipient probably won’t notice if you spent on "good" wrapping paper—most times, it’s ripped up and tossed within 5 minutes.

Laundry detergent & cleanser: If you don’t balk at big names, try these instead: Trend (made by Dial), Suavitel (Colgate-Palmolive) or Ariel (Procter & Gamble). Among household cleaners, Spic ‘n Span is from the same manufacturer as Comet, but a lot cheaper.

Pregnancy tests: Dollar-store pregnancy tests are under $5 and detect HCG at the same levels as more expensive, name-brand tests.

Shampoo: Often, dollar stores have name-brands like V05 and Suave, but try out Hairvitalize, Fruitamin and Johnson Parker’s line—all $1.50 or less.

Baby wipes: You can get 80 for under $1.50. Sleek Sensations, one common brand, is hypo-allergenic and alcohol-free; Soffs wipes have aloe and vitamin E.

Kitchen utensils: A stainless steel whisk is the same at a dollar store as anywhere else. But stay away from dollar-store can openers—they never seem to work!

DON’T BUY

Batteries: Most dollar-store batteries are carbon-zinc, which drain very quickly. Look for alkaline—they last much longer.

Toothpaste: Some dollar-store toothpaste (even name-brand) is made in other countries, and may contain many times the amount of fluoride allowed by the ADA. Check the label.

Vitamins (dollar-store brand): In a 2004 study, over half the dollar-store multi-vitamins they tested were missing at least one listed nutrient.

Electronics: They can contain undersized wiring, which poses the risk of overheating. Be sure the product is UL certified.

Toys: Many have sharp edges or pieces that can be easily swallowed. No-name packages don’t always include the appropriate age range for the toy and many have been recalled for containing lead paint.

Jewelry: Also has been recalled for having high levels of lead.

*I know--it's a copout. I have so much I want to write about my emotions leading up to my wedding and I've been trying to organize my scattered thoughts in a way that won't leave me or anyone else completely flummoxed. I hope I can soon write something coherent to express the myriad emotions I'm experiencing these days. Most of all, I am excited and exhilarated!

8. Bush Wears Crocs: Particularly when he practices speeches.

7. Bush Nicknamed Speechwriter Jonathan Horn "Horny":This is not surprising at all, just funny.

6. Bush Is Arrogant About Things He Shouldn't Be Arrogant About: "I know it sounds arrogant to say," he told Latimer, “but I redefined the Republican Party."

5. Bush Takes Pride in Thinking up Very Simple Jokes: “If bullshit was currency,” he said straight-faced, “Joe Biden would be a billionaire.”

4. Bush Refers to People As "Cat": "We got to make this understandable for the average cat," he said of one speech.

3. Bush Didn't Have Much Regard for Barack Obama: Bush remarked, "This guy has no clue, I promise you."

2. Bush Didn't Understand His Administration's Own Economic Proposals: “We’re buying low and selling high,” Bush kept saying about the Treasury's plan to snap up troubled mortgages. The problem was that his proposal didn’t work like that. One of Bush's staff members anxiously pulled a few of us aside. “The president is misunderstanding this proposal,” he warned. “He has the wrong idea in his head.”

Eventually, Bush, exasperated, deliver[ed] a classic line: "Why did I sign on to this proposal if I don’t understand what it does?" he asked.

1. Bush Was Remarkably Prescient About Sarah Palin: Right after Palin was selected as John McCain's running mate...Bush delivered what would become a spot-on assessment of her liabilities: "This woman is being put into a position she is not even remotely prepared for," he said. "She hasn’t spent one day on the national level. Neither has her family. Let’s wait and see how she looks five days out." Never mind the fact that Bush, when he ran for president, also lacked experience on the national level.

To this day, a sense of disbelief prevails.

Now, years later, when I watch coverage of the events of that day, I am struck with a feeling of loss not unlike what I've felt for a beloved pet. It's as though I've spent the past eight years mourning a trusted friend. And still, I mourn for those buildings and the lives lost inside them. I have read, talked and thought quite a bit about 9/11 since that day, but have always tried to avoid visual imagery. It's too painful to see the look of fear and sorrow on witnesses' faces, to see images of firefighters rushing in to the buildings, of the buildings themselves crumbling with so many souls inside.

Yet, this year, I could not tear myself away from the images. I felt as though I owed it to the victims and the towers themselves to revisit that day, to remember and to reflect. I needed to remind myself how fortunate and how grateful I am to have survived that day and to have not lost anyone close to me. Watching the news with Jason, I laid my head in his lap and and held him close, remembering the overwhelming loneliness I felt on the night of 9/11, when I did not have him (or anyone) beside me on the couch as I am so lucky to have now.

After Jason went to bed, I watched a couple of hours of A&E's coverage with a very heavy heart, but a sense of duty to the victims and the towers themselves not to change the channel. I felt I owed it to myself and to those who were sacrificed to reflect as intensely as I did this year, after so many years of passively marking the anniversary. I realized you don't need to lose a family member or dear friend to be in mourning. I still mourn.

The first anniversary of the attacks was easily the hardest. Wall-to-wall coverage in the NYC and national media, everyone still so very raw and shocked and sad. The entire island of Manhattan seemed to be covered in a fog that first year, denser in certain areas and among certain groups of people. You could see it in people's faces and sense it almost instinctively when a stranger on the subway or the sidewalk was telling you with their eyes, "I know."

On the first anniversary of the attacks, the NY Times published a section featuring the names and photos of everyone who died. When you hear a death toll expressed as a number (in this case, 2,752), it's an abstract, intangible thing, hard to visualize in terms of real quantity.

I tried to avoid the news all day, but when I arrived at Jason's apartment that night, I saw he had taped each page of the NY Times spread along the wall in his hallway. Photo after photo after photo after photo. It was so utterly devastating to see all those faces--real people, in the flesh, not just a number in a news article. I stared at that wall for a long time, unable to tear myself away. I marveled at the magnitude. I mourned all those people I'd never met and the impact their deaths had on me, my friends, my family, my city.

I felt similarly the first time I visited the Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C. All those names etched in stone. You walk along that wall and the names just keep coming, thousands upon thousands. It is a simple, yet extremely powerful represenation. Similar, too, and with a great deal of personal meaning for me: the schoolchildren who collected 11 million paperclips to represent and honor the total lives lost during the Holocaust.

In successive years, the anniversary of 9/11 has gotten easier, but no less powerful. When I moved from NYC in 2004, I experienced the anniversary for the first time without people around me who'd been there. I cried in private that lonely year, but also in public, during a screening of "Fahrenheit 911." I was 3,000 miles from my city, watching the movie in a packed northern California cinema, not expecting imagery from that day to appear on the screen and make me explode in tears. The screen faded to black. The theatre fell silent; mine were the only sobs.

Poor souls jumped from the World Trade Center towers. That was, and still is, the part of that day's events that is most difficult for me to accept. I have tried putting myself in their shoes countless times, tried to imagine what they felt--the confusion, the terror, the helplessness--and I know I can never even begin to comprehend what they felt. I am nauseous just writing about it now. It's still so shocking, after all these years. Will it ever cease to be so?

Even now, whenever I find myself in lower Manhattan, my heart aches. When I go home to Brooklyn or cross the river into New Jersey and look back at the skyline, I feel lost and brokenhearted taking in its altered appearance. Something will always be missing from the view.

My heart is heavy today, though, like millions of Americans, I'm moving through my typical workday routine, drinking my coffee, reading my email, wishing co-workers a good morning and a good weekend. Lots of people saying "Never forget" today. As if we need to be told.

Because we have become more active in our community since the advent of our weekly flea market and creative collective, the simple act of coming home at the end of the day has become a social event. While I have met a neighbor here and there in the various buildings I've called home in New York, I've never walked down the streets of my neighborhood and encountered so many people I know by name or face. I'm constantly waving hello across a street or stopping for a quick "How's it going?" as I scurry about. It's a welcome change and it adds to the growing charm of our otherwise rough-around-the-edges neighborhood.

Given my warm feelings on this hot and sticky Friday, I thought it was time for a shout-out to some of our notable neighbors (at least those with web presence):

I Love Franklin Ave -- interesting and informative local blog with features and photos by Nick
Planet Ert --run by our dear friends, the supremely talented Robert and Danyel
The Artist Known as Kev -- another flea market regular and gifted friend, Kevin
Nostrand Park -- local blog featuring two contributors, Ferentz and Laurel, who have documented our flea market and keep us up-to-date on local happenings
Crown Heights Creative

Local businesses we like:

Bristen's Eatery -- lovely outdoor patio and great sandwiches
Franklin Park -- welcoming bar and beer garden with outdoor patio and relaxed vibe
Bombay Masala restaurant -- delicious Indian food, friendly staff AND they show Bollywood music videos on a big screen!
Nam's Fruit & Veggie Market -- our fine local produce market
Homage Burger Bar
Lily and Fig Bakery & Tea Shop
About Time
Cafe Shane

So, back to the letter. It contained a new member ID card and cheerfully informed me "Your Empire card has a new look!" Funny, I thought. What was wrong with the old look? The letter continued: "Your new member ID card...has a fresh look and cleaner layout, but works like your old card." Hmm... I pondered. Fresh look? OK, I'll bite. I pulled my old card out of my wallet to compare.

What I found threw me into a state of puzzlement that immediately gave way to frustration and a measure of anger: My "new" member ID card looks exactly like my old one, with the exception of one line having been removed. See for yourself (excuse the poor scan quality):

Now, I'm sure it didn't cost Empire more than a couple of bucks to print me an entirely unnecessary new ID card and slap a stamp on it. But to print completely needless new IDs for thousands, if not tens of thousands, of members? Huge, gigantic, epic waste of money! No wonder healthcare in this country is such a disgrace--look where their money is going! When will someone do something to curtail all this shameless, gratuitous and downright wasteful corporate spending?

A few weeks ago, I mentioned that Jason and I were working to launch a line of homemade sauces, marinades and salad dressings. Well, The Pour Gourmet is now nearly two months old and we are beginning to garner a lot of interest!

Last weekend, as we lamented the rainy weather that limited our usual exposure at the Franklin and Sterling Flea Market, we and two other vendors with whom we've become good friends decided to brave the scattered showers and humidity and hold a mini-flea of our own.

We set up a table in front of Bristen's Eatery and chatted with neighbors and passersby, one of whom bought a bottle of our Honey You're Money (honey Dijon) and later returned to ask if she could videotape Jason for The Brian Lehrer Show's Uncommon Economic Indicators video contest.

She made an impromptu BlackBerry video and posted it to YouTube and on the website for our local NPR station, WNYC. The audio/video syncing is a bit off, but for an improvised bit of filmmaking, it does the trick!

It's a truly exciting time for us as we explore the seemingly infinite possibilities of a new business venture for which nearly everyone we've talked to shares our enthusiasm. It is especially gratifying to have formed such a camaraderie with others attempting to achieve a similar goal: spitting in the face of a crap economy by using your talents and determination to build a business that taps into your true passions and not just your need for an easy paycheck. Those rewards that are harder to come by are all the more sweet, aren't they?

Jason and I spent the better part of last Saturday at the flea market. For those who don’t know yet, Jason is working on launching a line of sauces, marinades and salad dressings under the name “The Pour Gourmet.” He has been making his own sauces and dressings for years and has always toyed with the idea of bottling them (with my encouragement—I’ve been one of the sole benefactors of his talents for far too long!). As so many people are finding out these days, getting laid off in a shitty job market often leads to bright ideas and ingenuity. For Jason, it meant looking outside the proverbial box for new ways to put his many talents to use.

Faced with a gloomy, rainy outset to the day, we were not feeling overly optimistic about the market's opening. But after a soggy start, the rain stopped, the clouds parted and before noon, we were blessed with a sunny day. People started streaming into the streets (Franklin Av. is the main drag of the Prospect/Crown Heights border where we live) and into the flea market.

It was an exhilarating day—not only did we meet some awesome people from our neighborhood, but nearly everyone who stopped by our table for a sample loved Jason’s sauces. (For opening day, he offered a batch of his classic barbecue sauce, along with two unique variations—one infused with lavender and ginger and one with sweet peppers and pineapple.)

More than the modest sales Jason made that day, the genuine enthusiasm of people in the community for his products (as well as the flea market itself) was infectious. So many people told us they’d been longing for a community market like this one and it only promises to get bigger as the weeks go by.

Thanks to Nick, who wrote a very kind account of the day on his blog, I Love Franklin Ave (which I’ve enjoyed for months and can now associate with a real, live person).

The Pour Gourmet website will be up and running very soon. For now, if you're in the area on a Saturday, stop by the fantastic Franklin and Sterling flea market and say hello.

Reading about Anthony and his fiancée (they had just bought a house and planned to be married in July) sent a wave of sadness through me that stuck around for a day or two, then drifted out of my mind to make room for the daily onslaught of new worries and factoids to settle in.

That is, until about two weeks later, when I found myself walking directly past the partially-constructed building. The sidewalk along what will likely be the entrance to the hotel is fully enclosed with scaffolding and, as I crossed the street to walk under it, I wondered if I would see any tribute to Anthony. A flower, perhaps? A message written in magic marker on a wooden board?

I walked the entire length of the building and was disheartened to see no such message. No sign memorializing Anthony or the spot where he died. No marker. No indication that a man's life had ended there. I was shocked and disappointed. How could people be so heartless? How could his co-workers not have paid tribute to him in some way? Or his family or friends, for that matter.

I continued walking, feeling disillusioned with people and saddened that Anthony’s death seemed to go unnoticed and uncommemorated at this, the site of his death.

Then, I turned a corner.

Before my eyes, a giant wall of flowers six feet high and 10 feet wide. Posters. Signs. Cards. Candles. More flowers. “We love you, Anthony” read one. “We’ll miss you!” read another. “Rest in peace” read so many—written in black, red, blue, purple. Some were written by people who knew him—co-workers, friends, family. What moved me most were those tributes written by people who’d never met him but had nonetheless felt saddened by his death.

My heart sank at the sight of the soaring memorial, but, as I walked away, a wave of hope and optimism took hold. Deep down, the majority of people are good-hearted, compassionate souls and I’ve always tried to remember that when negative thoughts pervade my otherwise-positive spirit.

There is immeasurable love and kindness out there. You just have to look for it.