Category: diary Page 2 of 13

The Earring

As told by me on Twitter:


It’s late, but that means it’s good timing for a bedtime story. Six years ago, my wife and I snuck away for a long weekend in Chicago. It was her first time in the Windy City, and we picked a blustery few days to be there. Very cold. We bundled up.

We did a lot of touristy stuff in the Loop, all fun: Art Institute, Sears Tower, shops on Michigan. We stayed at my favorite hotel, the Palmer House.

I thought it would be fun to have a drink before dinner at the bar at the top of the Hancock building, so up we went. The view was fun, the drinks quite nice, the atmosphere all you could ask. I wanted to show Kel the basement bar a few blocks down at the Drake, so off we went.

Fog Lights


After ordering a new switch from BJ’s Offroad (a useful and well-stocked supplier of FSJ parts and accessories in Washington), Carl and I went back to work on the fog lights in the carport this evening. Carl had come up with the electrical wiring diagram for the headlights to compare. Using his meter, we confirmed we had power to the switch at the harness (but the old switch didn’t work, hence the new one), and we knew the lights themselves had good wiring.

Still, even with the new switch in place, we had no fog lights. That left the relay that sat between them to test. Carl popped it off, reading he schematic printed on the side as if he were an archaeologist interpreting an ancient rune. After figuring out which of the five prong was which (and consulting the wiring diagram printout), he went back to work with the ohm meter, confirming the relay worked–in theory.

Fever Dreams

Cicada by Chloe Ashton

Another day in the pandemic, this time with cicadas.


The cicadas sing in waves, one chorus rising from across the yard diminishing for another to rise with insect harmony. At times it can feel deafening, this persistent tree-hum; other times it is like white noise, useful for sitting out on the deck, the mobile phone put away, low music on the speakers, dim patio lights aglow.

My brain needs rest.

There is nothing new in this observation, but it’s worth mentioning nevertheless. Right now every sense we have is awash in a hyper-stimulated flood, the kind that wears you down and erodes what little measures of grace you might have in reserve.

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