I just had a thought about books––that the thing that I think might attract me, subconsciously, most of all to books, is that for every book written there is a person who has all of those words. I don't think I've ever had enough words, enough thoughts, about anything to write more than a mildly-amusing pamphlet. The pamphlet would educate the reader, certainly: they would learn all about my ignorance and ill-fitting brainparts.

Perhaps it's a matter of focus, of dedication to a subject. Some people may think "as the crow flies," I suppose. My mind seems to prefer the butterfly approach. I really, deeply, appreciate your single-mindedness, writers. I love your brain, your life, your way. Keep going!

...and then, LIBRARIES!


Family Outing

Well, this is by far the best thing that's happened at work lately.


The Problem

I have determined the problem with my life:

I cannot imagine any practical way to live in a houseboat in the Colorado mountains.
Nor live in Hawaii and Alaska simultaneously.
Nor stay at home and travel the world.
Nor visit Canada and South America, nor Russia and New Zealand, nor....