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In the Eastern part of the United States yesterday was a beautiful, early Autumn morning. In Washington, we were told to expect a high of 82 degrees with low humidity.

A completely different set of highs and lows began at 8:42 am when an airplane crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center. Then as we watched, live, another plane hit the south tower.

The World Trade Center buildings, then the Pentagon, then � We didn't know. What if the four hijacked aircraft were only a part of an even wider terrorist plan? We simply didn't know.

At about 9:30 The Lad checked in from Tokyo. On an open cell phone all he would say was that they were under "enhanced security." But he was fine.

The MDofS&P called from downtown Washington to report she, too, was ok. With reports of traffic jams caused by the sudden closings of Federal - and many commercial - offices she decided to sit tight and come home later in the day.

Simple things quickly became impossible things.

I tried to call the grandmas to report our status. A call to Ohio went through easily. It was impossible to get through to New Jersey.

Shortly after that, making even a simple, local phone call was impossible. There was no dial tone.

Cell phone service was out; producing only that fast series of beeps indicating an overload of the circuits.

E-mail worked, though, and people began sending "what-it-was-like-where-I-was" as well as "Can-you-believe-it-I-was-just-in-New-York-in-July" e-mails which, I suspect, helps people make sense of these types of tragedies.

A friend, whose New York City office is well north of the World Trade Center, wrote to ask if I thought she should stay in her office or go home. I said that unless she thought she would do better being by herself, she should stay around other people for support.

All through the day readers e-mailed asking if we were safe. We were and I am, very moved.

I needed to go to the cleaners, but it seemed as if doing something as mundane as dropping off and picking up shirts would have been debasing the memory of those thousands - perhaps, tens of thousands - of people who had died for the sin of having gone to work, or having gotten on an airplane, or having decided to walk on a sidewalk in downtown New York City not knowing that 220 combined floors were about to come down upon them.

I also needed to make a deposit. But it seemed as if the simple act of putting money into the bank on this day would somehow be like profiteering on the tragedy.

There are men working on the houses in my neighborhood repairing a construction error around the windows. At about 11:00 o'clock they climbed down from the scaffolding and gathered around a Spanish-speaking radio station. By noon they had gone. This was not a day for the tink-tink-tink of hammers on bricks.

In early afternoon the phones started working again. I talked to another friend about what it must have been like during the Battle of Britain when the people of London went through this every day and every night. This, we agreed, was the first day of the Battle for America.

At three o'clock, I did a terribly difficult thing. I learned that Barbara Olson, wife of Solicitor-General Ted Olson and long-time pal, was on the plane which crashed into the Pentagon.

Before this is over, we will all know someone who was lost. Or we will know someone who lost a loved one.

Late in the afternoon, I checked on the flowers around back. We live in the flight path of Reagan National Airport which, of course, was closed. Nevertheless, I heard the sound of an airplane. I looked up to see a lone military jet patrolling high over the Potomac River.

I watered the plants. I supposed I needed to do something, no matter how simple, which preserved and enhanced life. Even if only the flowers on the back deck.

I went to a local restaurant to buy a pizza and a sandwich. I was told that only pasta would be available. All the pizzas and sandwiches were being sent to the rescue workers at the Pentagon.

Everything will be more difficult from now on.