Not much of anyone in the airports at all, actually, aside from soldiers and cops with dogs. I showed identification and ticket three times, had my bag searched twice and went through two metal detectors (one handheld wand) before I was allowed on the plane. Impressive security. But the woman who searched my backpack pre-boarding forgot to look in the front pocket. I pointed it out to her; she looked embarrassed and took back the bag. It was a weird little encounter.

The shuttle is a little fifty-seat commuter jet. It banks more steeply on turns than larger commercial airplanes. As my plane banked left out of National Airport, we had a clear view of the Pentagon. They've put up some kind of scaffolding to shield the wreckage, and the building looks almost intact from above. The cranes and trucks give the south side away as the crash site, though, and it's a sobering view from a plane.

Somewhere along the line I decided that the black berets our soldiers wear look cool. Sort of, um, French, but cool.

I have slept and slept and slept, and still I'm exhausted. Cricket is home and asleep somewhere. More when I'm less.