I feel trapped. Like I can't move. There's a small feeling of helplessness.

We've got two major road closures around here -- one the result of the Sept. 11 attacks, the other a construction project at a railroad crossing on a major thoroughfare. The roads around Fort Monmouth have been affected for three weeks now. One runs between two major parts of the fort, and normally private vehicles are allowed through. It was one way I'd drive to work. Now, the road is blocked off to fort traffic only and the detour is several miles through another town. I've actually found a convenient way around it, and it's not so bad anymore. But it remains a visual reminder of what happened on Sept. 11 -- of our nation's security threatened. Fort Monmouth's security has been light for about six years; sometime during a round of base closings during the Clinton Administration, the fort was downgraded or something of the sort, requiring less security. The regularly manned guard booths were first left empty and then removed. Until Sept. 11, civilians could drive right onto the grounds, drive right through and come out on the other side. For three weeks now, you so much as slow down near the gates and guards take notice. Now, in this heightened state of security, all government and military properties are watched closely.

The other detour is for some repair work to the railroad crossing, I think. It involves an intersection of three roads, plus a jughandle, on Route 35 between Shrewsbury and Red Bank. Though I go through the intersection often, mostly taking the jughandle to head toward the Garden State Parkway, I rarely actually cross the railroad tracks. Maybe once a month, when out on a series of errands that takes me from Red Bank to Shrewsbury or back. But because it's such major work and it closes a state highway, it's affecting the traffic flow on surrounding roads. My commute to work now, which varies in the time I go and from where I'm coming, particularly if I'm covering a Saturday football game, takes a little longer. Where it was once 20-25 minutes it's now 25-35 minutes. Coming home after midnight continues to be no problem.

But this feeling of not being in control is frustrating; I've grown weary of it. When the railroad crossing at Route 35 opens again -- they say it will on Oct. 12 (the real Columbus Day) -- I will get a little sense of control back. The roads by Fort Monmouth remain another matter. I've never seen Oceanport Ave. completely closed in my lifetime, not even during the Gulf War. Who knows if it will ever be completely back to "normal" now.

I just wish there were more I could do, but sometimes I have to remind myself some things are out of my control. I'm usually good about this, but lately I've been wishing I could be more help, that I could make more of a difference. But I just need to do what I can, what I can control, and let the rest work itself out.

It's been a good week, though. Casey arrived on Tuesday (hence the lack of updates) and a little more than an hour after her arrival, we were in the car again on our way to Baltimore. My friend Matt had called the night before, offering tickets to the Orioles-Blue Jays game. Casey was up for going, so I told him we'd be meeting him at Camden Yards. We made it into town a little after 5 p.m. and walked along Pratt St. to the Inner Harbor to find a place to eat. Along the way, we passed several fish sculptures and looking for any that resembled Mr. Tickles ("three hams will fill him"). At the Inner Harbor, we weren't sure where to eat, and as we wandered in the general direction of the old electric company where the Hard Rock and ESPN Zone sit, we glanced at a directory listing the shops and restaurants. Johnny Rocket's sounded good, so we backtracked to the pavilion we'd already passed and went inside.

I realize it was 6 p.m. on a Tuesday, but the concourse -- the entire mall actually -- seemed strangely empty. I figured with the Orioles in town and Cal Ripken down to his final five days in uniform there'd be a big crowd for the game, and a big pregame rush at the eateries. The last time I was in Baltimore was for a game was a matchup with the Yankees in 2000. There were more cheers for the Bombers that night than the Orioles, and the best Matt and I could do for tickets were standing-room ducats for a few bucks. We stood on the plaza in right field, peering over the neck-high wall and losing sight of the right fielder any time he came back near the scoreboard below us. But on Tuesday, even with Ripken playing less than a week before his retirement, we walked into a rather empty Oriole Park. Our seats were in the bleachers, and there was no need for us to walk all the way out to Section 94 in center field. We sat in Section 98, more in right-center, and watched Jose Cruz Jr.'s home run land one section and about five rows away. In the eighth inning, ESPN's Roy Firestone walked down and sat across the aisle in the row in front of us, watched the last two outs of the inning, and left.

Ripken went 0-for-4 in the midst of his career-worst 0-for-33 slump that ended last night. Tim Raines Jr. got his first major league hit leading off the ninth inning of a 3-3 game and later scored the winning run when the Blue Jays lost the game by walking Brady Anderson with the bases loaded (though Casey and I had left after the eighth to make the three-hour drive back to New Jersey). It was my first game since Sept. 11, the first time I stood during the seventh inning stretch and sang "God Bless America" instead of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." The teams came out of their dugouts, the pitchers in the bullpens turned their backs to the field, and everyone in the stands stood and looked at the American Flag out beyond the bullpens in left-center field. It was one of the most unifying experiences I've ever had. The fact that the ballplayers stopped and stood, honoring America, instead of going through their regular between-inning warmup routines, showed just how things have changed. For those few minutes, I was reminded of how we're all Americans. I could feel it -- it didn't matter that some of those ballplayers make more in a week than I do in a year, Sept. 11 affected everybody. I'm glad I had a chance to experience a baseball game this September.

Wednesday, Casey and I went into New York City for the Travis concert at Radio City Music Hall. We were there early to make a stop beforehand, but that took much less time than anticipated, so we wandered along W. 57th St. and stopped into Tiffany's for a moment. It was something we had to do, considering how Breakfast at Tiffany's is one of our favorite movies and is one of several cosmic forces that brought us together. From Tiffany's we went to FAO Schwartz and passed an hour looking at the games and playing with the toys and wishing -- just as we had 10 and 15 years ago -- we had unlimited financial resources and could buy anything in the store we wanted.

After walking along Madison Avenue for a while, we meandered down 52nd and decided upon passing Tequilaville that we were up for Tex-Mex. Mainly, we were up for beers, and it was happy hour, so in we went. The chips and salsa were free at the bar (Wo-hoo!) and then we took a table and ordered dinner.

At Radio City Music Hall, we were searched and scanned with a metal-detecting wand upon entering and made our way to row YY -- probably about 25 rows from the orchestra pit. Remy Zero opened the show, and Travis took the stage about 9:15, two minutes after I decided I was too thirsty to wait until after the show and went out to the lobby to buy a Coke. As I came back in, I heard the band begin, "Sing," one of only three of its originals I know (its cover of "Baby One More Time" the fourth). But I enjoyed the show, which included a cover of David Bowie's "All the Young Dudes." Fran's heartfelt best wishes for America -- "Everybody over in Europe is thinking about you and pulling for you and praying for you over here." -- brought a lump to my throat. I'm still amazed at the overwhelming support we're receiving from the global community.

Yesterday, we trudged around the Upper East Side looking at apartments and returned to FAO Schwartz to buy Milles Bornes, a card game we both played as kids and remembered as being so much fun, but then yesterday as I paid for it, couldn't even remember how to play it. But we'll refresh our memories Sunday. On the walk from Grand Central Station, where we ate lunch, back to the store, we walked again along Madison Ave. and I noticed at first a few firemen in their dress blues and then a crowd of them standing on a corner waiting for the light to change to cross.

I realized they'd come from yet another funeral mass at St. Patrick's. Visiting New York now -- I've been there three times since Sept. 11 -- I notice everything with the World Trade Center on it. A woman had it on a pre-Sept. 11 shirt featuring the skyline. Nine out of 10 photos displayed by sidewalk vendors include the Twin Towers. On one eerie black-and-white shot taken on a bright, sunny day, a puffy white cloud appears to be coming from the top of the towers -- almost a premonition to that Tuesday of three weeks ago.

After our purchase and a look at one more apartment with the realtor, we returned to Penn Station five minutes before our train was announced on Track 5 and arrived again in Little Silver at 4:30. It was a quiet, vegetative night, the kind I rarely have by myself, let alone Casey, spent watching "Who's Line Is It Anyway?" "Will and Grace," and then taped cartoons.

And today, after a busy day around the house and online, I'm back at work. It's only been three days off, but it's been three days off with Casey, and that's made it seem like more. The days with her are more fulfilling, more satisfying, and I look forward to them becoming more common -- a more common occurrance, not a more common feeling. That won't ever happen.