Today, as the country pauses to recall that frightening day twenty years ago, I take a moment, too. I was still working then. I was in our lab at Cornell setting up an experiment when a graduate student burst in saying something awful had just happened in New York City. I turned on my radio to NPR, and Morning Edition was still on even though it was past its normal time. Shortly there after, the second plane hit. Like most Americans and the world, I was glued to new outlets all day. I took my husband to an Ophthalmologist for some tests and listened to the radio in the waiting room. I remember being so worried about him that I had no room to process what had happened in NYC, the Pentagon, and was scattered in a Pennsylvania field. In fact, I never was able to react. I was the cantor for a Mass celebrated later in the week for the victims. Many in the congregation were weeping, but I had no trouble. Finally about a week later, a small item in our paper caused me to crumple onto the floor in tears. The article recounted how at Buckingham Palace the guard had been changed to the “Star Spangled Banner”. With that came out a week’s worth of pent-up emotions. That’s how I remember. That’s what I recall.