<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834</id><updated>2011-07-31T01:14:54.407-07:00</updated><title type='text'>WhereWereYou</title><subtitle type='html'>This is the place to share the memory of where you were on September 11, 2001. This has nothing to do with politics, nothing to do with wars, nothing to do with citizenship. It's only to share a snapshot, a moment in time, of where you were when you heard. Are you a pre-teen and 9/11 is one of your first memories? Or are you old enough to remember Pearl Harbor? I hope to hear from all walks of life. Write your story in the "comment" area below, and pending review, your story will be posted here.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>25</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-3712834617531688897</id><published>2009-10-28T10:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T10:57:04.267-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Praying for Brother at the Pentagon</title><summary type='text'>I was in bed when the phone rang. My boss called to tell us to turn on the television.

I was preparing for work when we heard about the Pentagon.

I have a brother who works there. When I got to work my friends met me and took me into an empty office to pray for my brother. I finally got a call about 45 minutes later that he was out of the building and unharmed. It was an unnerving morning. My </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/3712834617531688897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/3712834617531688897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/10/praying-for-brother-at-pentagon.html' title='Praying for Brother at the Pentagon'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-5820140762834879384</id><published>2009-09-11T04:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-11T04:43:46.303-07:00</updated><title type='text'>On a Fellowship in Maryland</title><summary type='text'>I live near NYC, but was on a journalism fellowship in Maryland and watched the coverage on television. My boyfriend was in NYC and that was the day he was to move into my apartment; instead he worked all day from his Brooklyn apartment, sending and editing photos from there, as a photo editor for the NYT. I didn't know until 4pm that day if he was alive, as he would have been near the Towers </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/5820140762834879384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/5820140762834879384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/09/on-fellowship-in-maryland.html' title='On a Fellowship in Maryland'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-7361311625627248036</id><published>2009-09-11T04:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-11T04:37:28.250-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In Bed with a High Fever</title><summary type='text'>I woke up with a fever of 104.5. Because I clearly wasn't going anywhere, my husband took our son to school and put the radio on for me to listen to. It must have been about 8:45, just when things were happening and facts were few. Early afternoon I was in the ER--it turned out I had sepsis from acupuncture treatment for a sinus infection--and I can't tell you how safe and blessed I felt in a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/7361311625627248036'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/7361311625627248036'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/09/in-bed-with-high-fever.html' title='In Bed with a High Fever'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-7793417894800510492</id><published>2009-09-03T10:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-05T09:16:49.047-07:00</updated><title type='text'>On a Sailing Trip</title><summary type='text'>My partner and I were cruising on the Chesapeake Bay for a two week vacation. We pulled into the marina at Solomon's Island at about 5 P.M. I walked to the grocery store to buy a few things and heard news reports over the grocery store loud speakers system. I went back to the boat and told Lorraine that we needed to get to a television because something big had happened earlier that morning. It </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/7793417894800510492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/7793417894800510492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/09/at-grocery-store.html' title='On a Sailing Trip'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-551794748729270884</id><published>2009-08-25T11:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-26T06:21:42.869-07:00</updated><title type='text'>At Home with My Husband</title><summary type='text'>My husband and I were home alone after all the kids had gotten off to school. He called me downstairs as the newscast of the first plane began airing. I stood there in front of the TV and watched the second plane hit the tower. In that instant, the realization that this was not an accident flooded my body. Fear enveloped me as I realized that our country could well be under a full blown attack; </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/551794748729270884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/551794748729270884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/08/at-home-with-my-husband.html' title='At Home with My Husband'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-196980931581096556</id><published>2009-08-14T11:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-14T11:06:16.244-07:00</updated><title type='text'>At Uncle's House</title><summary type='text'>Three weeks earlier, I moved from Barbados to New York to get my Masters at NYU. I was at my Uncle's home in Brooklyn, ironing my clothes, getting ready to head into the city. My uncle called and said to turn on the TV. While talking to him on the phone, I watched the second plane hit. He started yelling, "Did you see that?! Two planes! It's an attack!" The feeling of intense fear was instant. It</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/196980931581096556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/196980931581096556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/08/at-uncles-house.html' title='At Uncle&apos;s House'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-1085263660471127340</id><published>2009-08-06T11:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T11:29:06.601-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In Class at the Pope-Leighey House</title><summary type='text'>I had a class at Frank Lloyd Wright’s Pope-Leighey House in Alexandria, VA. I took the Metro and then some bus… I must have passed by the Pentagon some minutes before 9 am. The class had just started when someone from the staff turned on a mini-TV and the next thing I remember is all of us glued to the tiny monitor, watching in disbelief. Some of my classmates started crying after not being able </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/1085263660471127340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/1085263660471127340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/08/at-class-at-pope-leighey-house.html' title='In Class at the Pope-Leighey House'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-4325329045986861936</id><published>2009-08-02T03:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-02T03:35:44.264-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Watching With a Customer</title><summary type='text'>For some reason, I turned on The Today Show while I was folding laundry before work. I called my husband, who reassured me it was probably just an accident. I tried calling NYC to check on my brother-in-law (who worked near the towers), but all circuits were busy.At work, we went next door to the glass shop with a customer to watch the news on TV. Then our shop manager told us a plane crashed in </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/4325329045986861936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/4325329045986861936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/08/watching-with-customer.html' title='Watching With a Customer'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-6242594930664513373</id><published>2009-07-31T04:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-31T04:28:09.729-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In Traffic Near the Pentagon</title><summary type='text'>I was in a taxi, on my way to work at U.S. News &amp;  World Report when I saw the smoke just begin to rise from the vicinity of the Pentagon. I'd heard on the radio about NYC, so, as traffic stopped, I jumped out of the cab and ran against the current of people fleeing the Pentagon in order to take photos and see what was happening. The building was belching smoke and victims were being evacuated as</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/6242594930664513373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/6242594930664513373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/07/in-traffic-near-pentagon.html' title='In Traffic Near the Pentagon'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-719980967480032079</id><published>2009-07-27T11:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T11:55:48.256-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Studying Math</title><summary type='text'>I was sitting in Algerbra II class when our pricipal came over the loadspeaker and told us what happened.My little brothers were in middle school near Langly Air Force Base, and mom sent me to go pick them up.  I remember thinking I wasn't going to make it there.Patricia Lauren ShafferVirginia Beach, Va.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/719980967480032079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/719980967480032079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/07/studying-math.html' title='Studying Math'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-6184048733671683902</id><published>2009-07-08T09:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-08T09:56:30.930-07:00</updated><title type='text'>While Answering Calls</title><summary type='text'>I was working at a mail order company, answering incoming phone calls. I first heard about what was happening from one of the callers, who just started sobbing. My boss brought his portable TV out where everyone could see it.As we watched the towers explode, one of my coworkers burst into tears. We found out later that two of her cousins died in the towers.But that night fighter planes ran routes</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/6184048733671683902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/6184048733671683902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/07/while-answering-calls.html' title='While Answering Calls'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-2817965199216374350</id><published>2009-07-08T03:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-08T10:00:11.646-07:00</updated><title type='text'>At a Hollywood Health Club</title><summary type='text'>I was driving to a meeting with a producer with whom I was putting together a TV magic special.  Just before I got onto the freeway, I tuned in to a station that was preempting their regular coverage for round-the-clock coverage of the towers tragedy.  I pulled over and listened.Later I was in a Hollywood fitness center. 150 TV sets were all tuned in to the news channels. I sweated and watched.I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/2817965199216374350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/2817965199216374350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/07/at-hollywood-health-club.html' title='At a Hollywood Health Club'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-5901590824810408515</id><published>2009-07-08T03:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-08T03:22:33.507-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Premonition</title><summary type='text'>My dear friend Dottie was visiting me in Virginia Beach from New York when we turned on the TV that morning to witness the collapse of the towers. Dottie herself worked in an office in the Empire State Building and had friends in the towers. That morning, as we watched the towers, she told me that she went inside one of the towers when it had first been built. She had such a horrible feeling of </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/5901590824810408515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/5901590824810408515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/07/premonition.html' title='A Premonition'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-9025434025085672206</id><published>2009-05-08T01:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-08T07:17:22.054-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In the Car in Boston</title><summary type='text'>I had a 10 o'clock appointment in Lexington and hoped to vote beforehand (a replacement for Congressman Moakly). But I broke a small bottle of nail polish and cleaning it up made me late.I turned on the radio in the car, which I remember was hard to do because of my wet nails. The NPR news came on about the first plane. By the time I got to my desk at work, the second plane had crashed. I called </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/9025434025085672206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/9025434025085672206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/05/on-way-to-radio-station.html' title='In the Car in Boston'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-8016260491072089524</id><published>2009-05-04T11:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-04T11:39:56.289-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sleeping In</title><summary type='text'>I slept a little later than usual since I didn't have class that day. I was expecting to see the tail end of Good Morning America and the weather forecast. I canceled class that afternoon, and spent the entire day watching. The next day my students needed to talk about it. And then when I got home I watched some more. I worried about my Egyptian family, most of whom live in the United </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/8016260491072089524'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/8016260491072089524'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/05/sleeping-in.html' title='Sleeping In'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-4545049457965047569</id><published>2009-05-04T11:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-04T11:41:22.768-07:00</updated><title type='text'>At Work in Kissimmee</title><summary type='text'>I was at my office and one of my co-workers started telling us. I think her husband called her from home and we were trying to call people to get confirmation. My office closed. I went home and started calling people I knew in New York or had family there. I also called my family in D.C. I think I was in shock. It felt something like a hurricane day, where you go home and batten down the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/4545049457965047569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/4545049457965047569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/05/at-work-in-kissimmee.html' title='At Work in Kissimmee'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-1442552777258380148</id><published>2009-05-03T02:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-03T02:32:04.532-07:00</updated><title type='text'>At Home in Florida Doing Chores</title><summary type='text'>I was folding whites on my bed and the Today show was on. We saw the first plane crash into the tower and thought it was an accident. When the second one hit my husband and I knew it could not be an accident. It was scary.I will never forget that day - it's as clear to me as the day President John F. Kennedy was shot. For me it was also the beginning of a few years of Post Traumatic Stress and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/1442552777258380148'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/1442552777258380148'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/05/at-home-in-florida-doing-chores.html' title='At Home in Florida Doing Chores'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-902738683411748121</id><published>2009-05-01T14:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T14:54:07.612-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In Third Grade Class in England</title><summary type='text'>I was in year 3 at primary school. So I was about 8 years old.At lunch break, Lara from year 5 told us all that her mum had texted her and that planes had crashed in New York.I got home that afternoon to my (American) mother, who was sobbing and had the TV on at full volume. The clip of the first plane diving into the first tower was on repeat. I wasn't really aware at the time of what was really</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/902738683411748121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/902738683411748121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/05/in-third-grade-class-in-england.html' title='In Third Grade Class in England'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-2141577683691247636</id><published>2009-04-30T23:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T14:54:51.912-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Visiting Juveniles in Prison</title><summary type='text'>I was eating breakfast at McDonald's with some out-of-town guests. The TV was on there with no sound and we saw the first tower burning. I remember thinking it reminded me of "The Towering Inferno."Next, I drove to Chicago to visit two teenage girls in juvenile prison. They told me stories of terrorist attacks and burning buildings that had fallen down. I paid little attention, because they </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/2141577683691247636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/2141577683691247636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/04/visiting-juveniles-in-prison.html' title='Visiting Juveniles in Prison'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-2033342898623645354</id><published>2009-04-30T10:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-30T11:00:01.065-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In a Meeting</title><summary type='text'>I had not long had a baby and was working from home. Mum was watching Sky News while minding my son. I had a meeting with my financial advisor about my pension upstairs in my bedroom/office. Mum shouted the news up the stairs and we all came down to watch the second plane. I feared what might happen in the next few hours as almost anything seemed possible. Planning a pension seemed pointless. I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/2033342898623645354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/2033342898623645354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/04/in-meeting.html' title='In a Meeting'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-5399453685369317668</id><published>2009-04-30T10:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-30T10:57:42.161-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In Washington, D.C.</title><summary type='text'>I was interning for a small newspaper four blocks from the White House in DC. We ran upstairs to the publisher's apartment to watch the news all morning. Then he made us finish out the day saying, "I've seen worse." I ducked out at 4pm and the city was like a ghost town. A businessman offered to share a cab with me and dropped me off at my apartment. Everyone came together.Dawn ArteagaWashington,</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/5399453685369317668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/5399453685369317668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-was-interning-for-small-newspaper.html' title='In Washington, D.C.'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-8124261843193260772</id><published>2008-09-16T14:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-16T14:10:23.515-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In eastern Ukraine</title><summary type='text'>I was in Kharkiv, working with a group of American guests from a Kharkiv-Cincinnati exchange. We were watching it on the news.Aleksey SoldatenkoKharkiv, Ukraine</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/8124261843193260772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/8124261843193260772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2008/09/in-eastern-ukraine.html' title='In eastern Ukraine'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-3670314112905285031</id><published>2008-09-16T14:06:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-16T14:16:11.660-07:00</updated><title type='text'>At the Animal Hospital</title><summary type='text'>I was at work at the animal hospital. I walked into the office where the television was on and several people stood watching.I called Rick at home. I contemplated NOT calling. I knew he would rush into Chicago to the newspaper. I was worried the city wasn't safe. Maybe the next target? But I knew he would want to go. I had to tell him. I had to tell somebody.Jan TumaChicago, Illinois</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/3670314112905285031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/3670314112905285031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2008/09/at-animal-hospital.html' title='At the Animal Hospital'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-3554700278177590860</id><published>2008-09-16T13:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-25T13:57:46.182-07:00</updated><title type='text'>On the Magnificent Mile</title><summary type='text'>I had just gotten out of the shower when my wife called to tell me that a plane had hit one of the towers. On the train ride downtown the conductors urged everyone to get off and return home, as the city was emptying out. Only a few of us chose to continue on: me (a Trib newsartist), and another reporter.After a long and mind-numbing day, a coworker and I exited the Tribune Tower out onto a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/3554700278177590860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/3554700278177590860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-had-just-gotten-out-of-shower-when-my.html' title='On the Magnificent Mile'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7459648580972269834.post-1327938981930778604</id><published>2008-09-16T11:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-25T14:08:29.676-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In a Montenegro Newsroom</title><summary type='text'>I was in a newsroom in Montenegro working with a local journalist. He got a call on his cell from a friend, who told him, "tell the American you're working with that two planes have crashed in New York."All the online newsites were jammed, as were all of the phone lines to the USA. My sister in England called. She was crying so hard she couldn't speak. She held the phone up to the tv, tuned to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/1327938981930778604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7459648580972269834/posts/default/1327938981930778604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wherewereyousept11.blogspot.com/2008/09/in-montenegro-newsroom.html' title='In a Montenegro Newsroom'/><author><name>Patti McCracken</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
