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1:00 p.m., Saturday, October 6, 2001

There is no question that my heart aches for the families of the victims, for the rescue workers who tire endlessly at a futile effort, for the clean-up workers who inhale the worst of the smoke and dig through inconceivable mounds of rubble to prepare the way to build again. Still, with each passing day, I become increasingly accustomed to living in a war zone.

I still have nightmares; I still fear the next attack. But as far as the gaping hole, the rubble, the smoke -- it may not seem to be a great accomplishment, but I can actually put it out of my mind for up to 15 minutes a day now. Here, in Lower Manhattan, that is an amazing thing to do. We all focus, possibly moreso than in other parts of the country, on the task of living, even if that living involves volunteering or finding other ways to help. It is our responsibility to our city and to our country; it is our responsibility to ourselves.

And then something happens to remind us that no matter how "normal" we try to be, normalcy as we once knew it -- only four weeks ago -- has ceased to exist. The daily reality with which we are living remains a horrible nightmare. Today, the reminder came in the form of a simple correspondence from a magazine editor who had planned to talk with me about living in the shadow of destruction. A friend of a friend, Patricia Harman, editor of Cleaning and Restoration magazine, came to the city to inspect the site. Although she had told me that she would call me during her trip, I never heard from her. Then I received the following correspondence:

                    I came to New York and I'm already back home. I'm sorry we didn't connect while I was there. I spent half of Thursday and literally all day Friday walking through the red zone with restorers. The amount of work that has been done and the amount to be done are unimaginable. I got back to my hotel late yesterday and typed up my notes with tears streaming down my face. I don't know how you have managed to stay sane through all of this. Your account was fascinating and provided a wonderful overview. Even with all you had written, I was unprepared for the sheer magnitude of what I would see.

                    I have close to 5,000 words of notes and I still haven't taken the high points off of my interview tapes. The strength and resilience of those involved in these efforts defies description.

                    I still may contact you if I have any questions. My head is spinning and it's hard to put everything into words at this point.

                    Thanks again for all of the information you provided.

                    Patricia L. Harman, Editor

As I read the note, it occurred to me that, in a very odd way, I have become used to the utter devastation around me. It doesn't feel as if I'm accustomed, but when confronted with a message such as Patricia's, I realize that somewhere, deep in my psyche, the impossible has become part of my routine.

That is far from saying that life has resumed to be commonplace. The sight of Ground Zero, with its endless surrealism ... the overwhelming gratitude for the tireless workers ... the thought of my city as a makeshift cemetery ... a civilian jet flying above the city ... the need to travel against every instinct ... the odor emanating from the site ... sirens, workers, and guards ... the thoughts and fears and conflicting emotions ....

But what Patricia Harman experienced these past two days overwhelmed her, differently than it now overwhelms me: some of what I have witnessed over several weeks occurred in her life in just one and half days.

I didn't know how to comfort her, other than to say, "I understand."