It seems like that’s all we think about, these hostages.  Two were finally rescued last night, and we’re all going crazy.  And what of the others?  We wear the necklaces and the yellow ribbon pin, we listen to endless interviews of the families of the hostages and know each name and the circumstances of their capture.  

Even people who seem to be totally concerned with their own lives break down at a certain point.  

I wonder how the people in the square next to the museum, the courts, the opera, the theater, feel about those of us who are continuing their lives.  Do they know that we’re with them, even though we’re trying to stay strong?