For me, Sept. 11, 2001, began like most workdays. I awoke around 6 a.m. to the obnoxious sound of my alarm clock. I hit the snooze alarm several times, as my husband and I were up later than usual the previous night. We had celebrated our 18th anniversary.

My typical morning routine includes opening my Yahoo home page. Since I was slow getting out of bed, I wouldn’t have much time to read “My Front Page Headlines,” but I at least wanted to check the weather so I could decide what to wear to work. I glanced at the “Lead Photo,” which includes a photo and several sentences regarding AP’s designated headline story.

There was a picture of what was unfolding across the continent, but it was so surreal that I didn’t grasp the seriousness of the situation. I didn’t even click the link to read further as I had to get ready for work. As I got out of the shower the phone was ringing. I answered to my husband’s voice who said something to the effect of, “Have you heard, a couple of planes crashed into the twin towers.”

Again, still not comprehending the gravity of the situation I said, “Yeah I saw something about it on the Internet.” The phone call was brief as I told him I had to get dressed.

I arrived at work at 7:30 a.m., greeting the clerical person before going into my office. Others arrived at 8 a.m. and began talking about the television coverage that by now had pre-empted regular programming. The office has a couple of televisions that we use to show videos. The reception initially was poor, but my co-workers moved one from the interior group room and had it in the main office area. As I watched some of the coverage, I suddenly became aware of the magnitude of the situation. A chill went down my spine; a chill much more intense than the one I had experienced when I saw the space shuttle Challenger explode years before.

The thought struck me that what these terrorists did was not a spur of the moment whim. There was obviously much forethought, planning and premeditation. I could not (and still cannot) understand who could have so much anger, hatred and total disregard for mankind to do something so unthinkable. Not to mention that they believed in their cause so much that they were willing to die in the process.

I generally don’t watch a lot of television during the week, but I wanted to know, I wanted to understand, I wanted to make sense of this senseless act. I watched a lot of news coverage, turning on the television when I first got up each morning. The office television stayed in the reception area through the end of the week. In between clients, I would catch updates on the latest. I fell asleep with the television on at home. Myriad emotions flooded me, fear, anger, sadness and pride in my country. I cried some when asking my husband, a civics teacher, about Osama bin Laden and the al-Qaeda, inquiring if we were safe. I laughed some when we talked about Peter Jennings being on the television all the time and when does he go to the bathroom. And I became angry when the Pendleton Round-Up didn’t even cancel one day of their precious rodeo, when the rest of the sports world aptly paused to mourn the victims, honor the heroes and process this devastating act of terrorism.

I made “Proud to be an American” placards to display in my car and office windows. I wore stars and stripes, and red, white and blue. I sewed a small American flag patch on the back of my Yankee jacket. I attended a prayer service at a local church. I wore patriotic pins made by one of my co-workers. I attended the candlelight gathering in the Wal-Mart parking lot. I wish I had brought my camera to record the moment, but on the other hand glad that I didn’t so I could just be in the moment. I facilitated groups of people with alcohol/drug problems, knowing that the risk of relapse may be triggered by the increased stress of such an event. I attended the Veteran’ s Day program at the community center and was truly grateful to each person there who has served our country in the armed forces.

I attempted to go on with life, not allowing the terrorists to win by having me live in fear. My husband and I had talked for a couple of years about going to spring training in Florida for his 40th birthday. Now he had no interest in flying. I asked if he was going to be OK when I flew again, because I expressed to him that I would. I did alter the dates of my usual winter ski trip to Denver. Remembering the events of the Munich Olympics in 1972, I didn’t want to fly into Delta’s hub of Salt Lake City during the Olympics. I went in March instead of February.

Flying the Friendly Skies

Due to additional airport security screening, gone are the days of cutting it close and running through the airport like O.J. In spite of knowing it likely wasn’t necessary to arrive at the minuscule Pasco airport two hours in advance, I got up well before the crack of dawn to catch my early morning flight. As we drove into the airport parking lot we were asked to open the trunk of the car. They glanced at my lovely matching luggage and waved us on. I was relieved the National Guardsmen didn’t feel it necessary to root around in the trunk or likely we would have been detained.

I presented myself at the Delta counter, where the procedure was typical of pre-Sept. 11. After being asked the usual questions and receiving my boarding pass, I proceeded to the concourse area. At the security gate I was required to show my boarding pass as well as my ID. I was wearing a baseball hat, which they asked me to remove. While there wasn’t anything inside, I had a severe case of “hat hair.” They also directed me to take a drink out of my cup. I found a seat by my gate and settled in. I watched as other passengers went through the security area.

I have taken this flight numerous times since 1997 when my best friend and her husband moved to Denver. The restriction of having only people with boarding passes in the concourses was very obvious in the Salt Lake airport. The lines for the restrooms and food were either non-existent or just a couple of people. At the connecting gate there was a makeshift security area where people were periodically directed to for additional security checks.

Before boarding my flight, I was again asked for my ID. When I arrived in Denver I remembered back to the last time I landed there, when my friends (who are known for practical jokes) were sauntering toward the gate with a not so flattering 8×10 picture of me inquiring, “Malgesini, have you seen this woman, Malgesini, have you seen this woman?” Now I would have to board the train to the terminal before I would see my friends. The night before we had discussed where we would meet and reminded each other to have our cell phones on in case we missed each other.

Flying back took more planning as we had seen the Disneyland-like lines that had been at the Denver airport recently. We arrived a couple of hours early and breezed through the ticketing area and then proceeded to the security area. It was desolate, so my friends and I stood around talking for a while before parting company. As I approached, one of the National Guardsmen said something about Oregon’s victory in the NCAA tournament game earlier in the day. l looked at him quizzically and inquired how he knew I was from Oregon. I had forgotten that due to being asked for my ID so much I had decided to put my driver’s license in the ID lanyard that hung around my neck.

I was directed to another area for an additional security check. They went through my camera bag with a fine-tooth comb. With a smile on her face the woman pulled out my Rocky Mountain Chocolate and said, “This is what we’re looking for.” We laughed and I told her she’d have to arm wrestle me for it.

She was particularly interested in a small aerosol canister. I told her it was sunglass spray and then she replaced it. I was asked to remove my shoes and thought well, OK, you asked for it. I have a definite foot odor problem and was hoping that the foot powder I had sprinkled in my shoe wouldn’t raise suspicion. She then “wanded” my entire body. Any time the detector sounded she asked if she could feel that area. I had to unbuckle my belt and she felt along my waistline. And what was amazing to me, the small clasps on my bra were detected and she felt along my back. Thank God I don’t wear underwires!

The National Guardsmen in Salt Lake were now armed with assault rifles. I really wanted a picture or some video footage, but people are a little jumpy now about pictures and videotaping, so using better judgment I overcame the urge to record the “Kodak” moment.

Take me out to the Ballpark

My husband and I have gone to three different baseball parks this summer (Safeco Field in Seattle, Pac-Bell Park in San Francisco and Network Associates Park in Oakland.) I checked the Internet for any restrictions on what you can bring in. In the past some ballparks have allowed small coolers and all have allowed backpacks. The written policy is no backpacks; however they do indicate diaper bags or a small bag is allowable. Given that we were taking public transportation and spending the day in the city prior to going to the ballpark, it would be necessary to bring some items with us. We found in Seattle that they were pretty lax on their policy as was San Francisco. Oakland, however, strictly adhered to their policy. Despite the warnings at the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) platforms many people brought backpacks, only to discard them in a heap at the entry gates.

California, Here I Come…

Given all the added security since 9/11, it’s almost comical that California still operates their Fruit Inspection Stations. “Hello, do you have any fresh fruit or vegetables”? “No, but I have a box knife and some white powder.” “Welcome to California, enjoy your visit.”

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Tammy S. Malgesini lives in Hermiston.