A journalist observes life in the far north.
I’m hiding out in the garage. I have a houseful asleep upstairs. I should be too but I got home from work at 11 p.m. I covered a meeting on deadline. I’m always too jazzed to go to bed after writing on deadline late at night.
I’m in Alec’s man room, surrounded by safety glasses and shiny metal things. There’s a radio tuned into jazz music. I just heard someone upstairs get up and go pee.
By writing “houseful” earlier, I mean Alec, Lucky and the Bottle Washing Fairy, who came to be with us whilst celebrating her 70th birthday.
We had a moonlit walk on Saturday and on Sunday a turkey dinner with homemade bread.
Tomorrow is the municipal election. I still don’t know who I like for borough mayor and whether I can swallow the school bond measure.