I can't get going. The only thing I did today was cruise the thrift shops for a new old low to the ground plastic lawn chair for my office, for morning offline writing sessions. Oh and buy some apples for the birds. My head is still out on the road somewhere between Florida's gulf coast, Costa Rica, Montana, San Francisco, Southern Oregon and Portland. Probably it's in Portland. In spite of the rain and Baby Thea dominating the landscape as she dashes headlong on her new bright red Christmas tricycle into the terrible-twos with all the drama and aplomb of a natural born vaudeville trooper, I am comfortable and very much at home in Portland.
Language itself is a barrier.
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