They've started referring to it as "yesterday," which is confusing even though I've had the television, radio, or computer on for over 18 consecutive hours.

Around 9pm, while I was reading stuff online, I heard an airplane approaching. Loudly. Closely. Now, I knew that the FAA had imposed a moratorium on all air travel beginning in the early afternoon. My throat closed tighter and tighter as it approached and caused the windows to vibrate, and only registered a delayed reaction when the loud hum faded away without incident. Roger surmised patrol planes; others suggested FBI planes or Air Force One. All I'm saying is, I would have seriously appreciated a heads-up from the news broadcasts.

Other than those five heart-stopping seconds, though, Edison is eerily calm. I saw a few more fire trucks and police cars out and about today, but nothing to indicate that we're less than 25 miles away from ground zero. Yes, I know I could have seen it from the top of the Metropark parking deck. (Note use of phrase "could have," because my parents, understandably, didn't turn out to be fans of my prowling about Edison at night.) Yes, I know a good third of Edison residents must work in New York City.

Yet you wouldn't know it from where I am. Even with the amount of information and opinions that I've been bombarded with, it still seems so distant. There's no soot in the sky, possibly just blocked by the looming hulks of houses. Phones, cell phones, Internet access, television and radio broadcasts, water, electricity... all the utilities that comprise the little bubble around Edison are still intact.

It's a weird contrast to all the news I'm getting bombarded with. Ha. "Bombarded." Tasteless word choice, wouldn't you say?

I know, or I think I know, that we're all safe in our respective corners of the country, but I wish everyone were home.