I know that we all have distinct memories of the exact moment when we realized what was happening on Tuesday, 9-11-2001, but driving to work today (I didn't take the bus/metro), I was struck by all the American flags hanging from each overpass bridge on I-66. It reminded me of all those flags that organically appeared and stayed up for months following that horrible day 12 years ago. I then remembered that horrible feeling sitting at the kitchen table in our old row house on Capitol Hill only 10 blocks from the US Capitol grounds watching the television and seeing the second plane hit the second of the Twin Towers. A few minutes later, we could hear the explosion of the plane hitting the Pentagon less than 1.5 miles from our house and right next to the road that I would take every morning and evening to go to work. For nearly two months after 9-11, I would sit in terrible traffic and having to look at that gaping black and charred side of the building facing VA-110 and see the nightlights there as investigators and cadaver dogs would look through the rubble. Unlike today's horrible humid, hazy, and 95F anomaly of a day, it was a cooler and brilliantly sunny day. Nick had just turned 3, Andrew was less than 3 months old, and our house was packed with boxes as we were moving in 10 days to our new home in Lovettsville. With all the media fear on the news and not knowing if that fourth plane headed for DC would hit the Capitol building or White House so near us, Vika and I were wondering whether to pack up the kids, in-laws, and pets and head to my father's home out in Potomac. We waited hearing the military jets constantly flying over our house, and hearing the rumble of military vehicles lumbering down Maryland Avenue toward the Capitol building. It was an eerie day and made us feel as though we were under occupation in war time. The normal drone of cars and people outside talking as they walked was silent and replaced by the military vehicles. Sadly after United Flight 93 crashed en route to Washington in Shanksville, we decided that all planes were accounted for and on the ground and decided to stay put. Move forward to the following Sunday--September 16, 2001, Vika, Nick, Andrew, and I drove to St. Nicholas Orthodox Cathedral to confirm with Fr. Constantine the date for Andrew's baptism. Not having been re-churched after Andrew's birth (in the Eastern Orthodox tradition, a woman is re-churched after giving birth when the child is baptized after 40 days and may not enter the sanctuary proper--an old Middle Eastern custom that came to the Greeks from the Israelites), we were waiting for the end of divine liturgy in the social hall. There were many old "babushkas" setting up for fellowship hour, and listening to the final hymns of the service over the loud speaker broadcasting from the sanctuary. Without pause after Divine Liturgy, Fr. Constantine said some comforting words about what had befallen our country five days earlier, and then the choir started singing "America the Beautiful". I felt as though I was going to break down when I looked at these octogenarian women around us with roots in those