Shortly after seeing the Dalai Lama, the days began blurring.  At some point I was in New Hampshire ( perhaps last weekend, perhaps the week before ), watched a few people get tattoos, slept down the hall from a dog the size of a Clydesdale horse with the personality to match, and burned five contractor bags full of sensitive documents in a fire pit that looked more like a well. Also reconnected with my love for octopus and spicy yellow-tail sushi.

A cough that had been hanging around for weeks went away, autumn abruptly ended, and the heater finally ran long enough that every room got toasty. Even better, the Poet vanquished her bronchitis. Salinger let me remove a knot in his fur without running for cover–a small and very personal victory.

I carved up a pumpkin but didn’t finish, which was fine because I handled more than 50 trick-or-treaters without answering the door even once, and did this without stiffing a single candy trawler. Thank you chair covered with a black sheet and goodie bowl. Even bigger approbations to all those children who read the sign that asked them to take a few pieces, and leave some for others. Almost all of them followed directions, though a few adolescents acted based on another interpretation: take everything you can carry now, before the next gang of teenagers does. Bad news for them, because the kids who came earlier loaded up on the best and most popular confectionery treats, leaving the old standbys that very few people under fifty like to the people too old for trick or treating anyway.

There was a midterm election. I voted. A bunch of people celebrated the results. Others did the opposite of rejoice. To me, one clear win for the entire country: No more attack ads. No more ads, phone calls, pleadings, or any flavor or brand of whining, period.

Wrote a lot. That was fun. Went to work. Oddly, that was much less fun.

Thought a lot about getting a new car, then decided against it. No reason to change up a winning team after fourteen years.

And so my weeks went.