I was at a meeting on the top floor of the National Press Club, a block from the White House. Someone came in and closed the blinds, and it wasn't long before the meeting ended and we all stood around wondering what to do.

Finally, I told two other women at the meeting that we were going to walk to my house, 7 miles away. After walking about 3/4 mile, we caught a cab. One of the women (who works for the National Security Agency and really wanted to get to work) lived north of me, so we took her home. The other was in town from Houston, so she stayed with me for four days until she could get a flight home.

About 7pm on September 11, we drove to her hotel south of National Airport to get her belongings and check her out of the hotel. We went right by the Pentagon, and the smoke and smell of burning flesh was something I'll never forget.

Several Cantor Fitzgerald employees that my branch worked with died that day. We think about them often.

One of the reasons I ride my bike to work now is so I have a quick way out of town if something like this, heaven forbid, ever happens again.