Now why’d I go and do that? There’s still five months to grind out between here and there. Guess I’ll keep working in the budget, then.

On the up side, no one was hurt and the damage is minor, even inconsequential (but for the fact that it’s our car, we’re still paying for it, and we don’t want to drive around like we’re looking for a demolition derby). So we deal with it and move on.

(Really doesn’t look like much, does it? It’s more impressive in person. :-/)

Okay, everybody! Smile!

For about ten years I wrote pretty faithfully, often several times a week. My writing became part of an evening ritual, especially on Sunday nights. I would sit at my desk listening to St. Paul Sunday, Pipedreams, and With Heart and Voice on Maine Public Radio. I enjoyed the act of writing, putting ink on paper. At the time I was much more into fountain pens and writing was as much an aesthetic exercise as anything. And I’ve got both larger bound books, small Moleskine notebooks, spiral bound and other notebooks, some full and others mostly empty because I got them when I didn’t have any of my other journals or notebooks with me to write in.

My main journal writing largely has centered around whatever is going at the time – at work, at home, in my ‘spiritual’ life. I have never been able to figure out who the audience for my journals is, though, whether it was just me musing or whether it was for anyone else. In fact, some number of pages in my journals are devoted to answering the question, “Just who am I writing this for anyway?” Do I expect anyone to read them? Is writing in them some futile attempt at immortality? These are the questions I ask myself and still can’t answer. And actually having looked back, so much of it is meaningless navel-gazing I wonder why I spent the money on books and ink. From time to time I may have hit on something meaningful but a lot is just that – books full of paper and ink and not much else.

Blogging didn’t come into the picture until several years later at the suggestion of my friend Brian. Brian is or has been both a journal writer and blogger for years and he encouraged me to give it a try. Before jumping even into the deep end I splashed around with a few others in a couple of community blogs/discussion forums he put together (The BKO Lounge, The Big Red House). While those no longer exist, I still count a handful of friends from those times – a couple of whom I have even met in person. And I took my fledgling blog from MSN Spaces (now Windows Live Spaces) to WordPress.

Even in my own journals I censor myself. In my blog posts, even more. Partly this has to do with what I do for a living (as an appointed public official), and partly because there are things I think are still nobody else’s business. That my self-censorship extends even to my handwritten personal journals tells me… well, honestly, I’m not sure what it tells me, except that there are things so private I won’t give them a voice anywhere.

I haven’t written regularly in my journals for a few years. When I do, I find myself noting how long it’s been since I’ve written. Often so much time has passed that trying to catch up is pointless and since I’m still not clear who I’m writing for, I end up floundering. When it comes to this blog, I know there is – however small it might be – an audience who will read at least some of what I write. But I still don’t know who most of my audience is, and I’m not sure it matters.

For the first couple weeks of this year I was on a tear. Every day seemed to bring new things to write about. There were some ideas that didn’t last long enough to make it even to a skeleton post I could flesh out later. And those almost always come as I’m listening to the news in the morning, so if I don’t write them down I forget once I get to work and it might as well never have happened. Guess I’ll have to start carrying that little book around with me all the time.

I’m not one of those, you know those perfumed men? I’m not passing judgment – if you’re one of those, that’s fine – but you have to be careful not to cross the fine line into cologne-dipped jackass-dom. Anyway, though I’m not a regular cologne wearer I do like a nice aftershave lotion and I get tired of the same old thing all the time.

Before I go too far let me just say I am also not the kind of guy to spend a lot of money on things like aftershave. This, I realize, may be part of the problem, but it’s also not likely to change. Perfume for my wife as a special gift, fine, but not for me. If I splurge on me it’ll more likely be motorcycle tires, or a new sauté pan, or something else manly like that.

When I first started shaving I was all about Old Spice or something similar, sometimes from Avon when my mom was into that. I’ve gone through my Skin Bracer phase, my Aqua Velva phase, and a Brut phase. I found something at Bath & Body Works a couple of years ago – Woodland – which, of course, has since been discontinued.

Doing some last minute HBA shopping with our eldest before she returned to school, I came across Pinaud Lilac Vegetal. Cool bottle, not expensive, something different. Yes, different indeed. Too bad they didn’t have a sampler, or that I didn’t read the online reviews on Amazon.com first. Of course I could have listened to my daughter, too, who was skeptical about the whole lilac thing.

Not wanting to be put off I tried it after a nice shave one morning recently. It was like putting lilac-scented eau de first-thing-in-the-morning on my face. Plecch. The rest of it went down the drain in the bathroom sink where I trust it will feel right at home in its final resting place.

But just what is it men want to smell like? I’ve been looking around, and still haven’t come up with an answer, at least not one I’m willing to spend money on. I’ve given Pinaud another chance, this time with its Clubman aftershave. If that doesn’t work out I guess I’ll have to stick with the old faithfuls in the grocery store shaving aisle.

Allowing for stops for gas, rest stops, food, etc., and the lengths of 16th Street and New Hampshire Avenue, we pulled up at Amsterdam Hall about three in the afternoon. Of course there was plenty of parking available so I pulled up on the curb, turned on the four-ways and we began unloading. This wasn’t just coming back from winter break, since our eldest had spent fall semester abroad in Africa, so it took three trips to transfer everything from the car to her room. Having one of her roommates coming down the street just as we arrived and helping out didn’t hurt.

Getting things somewhat squared away in our daughter’s room, given how late we got to DC, didn’t leave any time to see anything else in the city or take any pictures. We hadn’t really seen the city in winter yet and it was pretty much as bare and brown as what we left behind in New England. We had a few inches of snow a couple days before packing her up but there was no sign of snow in Washington.

We had a good, yet inexpensive dinner at Froggy Bottom Pub where I was told they had some fine pho and had the most enthusiastically friendly service I can recall anywhere. Though it wasn’t as cold outside walking to dinner as it was at home I was happy to have a nice hot bowl of Pho Froggy with added vegetables. A big bowl of broth, noodles, flank steak, brisket, meatballs, vegetables, and hot chili sauce – just what you need for a cold night of walking around the city.

Finally there was nothing left but to say goodbye and head for our hotel room, still an hour away. A long day, a long drive, and still a long drive home, all in about 36 hours, but it was worth doing, and we’d do it again. Come to think of it, we probably will.

When we visited the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial last fall I was struck, not only by the symbolism of the “stone of hope” coming “out of a mountain of despair,” but by the figure of Dr. King himself. To me the look of determination on his face and the unfinished nature of the statue say that the work is never done. While progress has been made overcoming official inequality there are still other ways inequality threatens America’s place as a “land of opportunity.” It’s not about envy, it’s not about division, it’s about real opportunity in the long term best interest of us all.

• Drive youngest daughter to school. Done.
• Doctor’s appointment for routine visit. Done.
• Take eldest daughter to stock up on health and beauty aids before going back to school. Done.
• Find Kim’s on St. John Street in Portland to get banh mi for lunch.

Done!

There really is a lot to find in Portland. I remember they used to promote it as “a lot of fun for a little city.” Thanks to the Internet finding little treasures like Kim’s Gifts is a lot easier and I’ve been meaning to get there after reading about banh mi in Bon Appetit and The New York Times. Prices have gone up a little in the four years since the Portland Psst! post was written, but the sandwiches are still tasty and cheap ($2.95 for the special – three kinds of pork). I think I’ll pass on the coconut juice next time, but you can bet there will be a next time.

And the day’s only half over.

A couple of years ago half of one of the remaining trees fell, taking our phone lines down with it. Shortly after that a tree crew came and removed the rest of it. It took weeks to get MCI and Fairpoint to restore our telephone service, but that’s another story.

Last fall the remnants of Hurricane Irene took down about half of the lone surviving maple in front of our house. Today a tree crew is here taking the rest of it down. These trees were planted probably about a hundred years ago and did an admirable job shading the house from summer afternoon sun. Now the front lawn will be bare but for the decaying stumps.

It snowed yesterday, which means the tree crew is tracking all over the front lawn, scattering twigs and wood chips. Goodness knows what the lawn will look like in the spring. Today, all that’s missing is “miles of yellow tape, silhouetted chalk lines” (playing over and over in my head) for it to look like a crime scene.

Maybe we’ll plant a couple of new trees in the spring.