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I know; I know. My journal has become a reservoir for Twitter backwash. I apologize.

Honestly, between work, Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, social mischief, travel and household duties, I really havenapos;t taken the time to write.

But if I plan to make a living with words and donapos;t want to copy edit for the next 30 years, Iapos;d better put characters to screen.

Yikes. Weird thought. If a catastrophe ever knocked out electricity, the vast majority of everything Iapos;ve documented in life would be lost. That thought scares me almost as much as the notion of dying.

Aaaanyway, back to some promised updates.

1. On Sept. 18, I promised to tell about the preceding Mondayapos;s troubles. Here goes.

I awoke early Monday morning to drive home from Chicago. I was scheduled to work at 3 p.m. And figured I had plenty of time to get home, shower and hit the office. But flooding on the I-94 forced my route much father south, and the entire traffic flow from I-94 was diverted to the puny U.S. 30. Needless to say, the five-hour drive ended up taking seven, plus the hour time-zone advancement. Knowing I would be late to work, I called the office. As the phone rang, I saw lights in my rear-view mirror.

The patrolman said I hardly had exceeded the speed limit (something I very rarely do), but he ticketed me because I was distracted on the phone. The cost of the speeding ticket put a serious question mark over fall travel plans.

When I arrived at home -- exhausted, embarrassed and dreading a full-days work atop the mess -- I noticed my garage looked different. Thatapos;s because Murray, my first and only moped, was missing. He had been stolen, and I was crushed.

And that, boys and girls, was one of the worst days of my life.

The upside: I bought a new moped, Sylvia, a 1980 Sachs Suburban. Sheapos;s clean, sweet and fast. I couldnapos;t be happier. But she cost some dollars, which means no trip to California for Shelbyapos;s wedding, no return to New York for Christmas and fewer road trips to Chicago in the winter.

Since then, my Murray was located by the police and will need some serious rehab work. He may be a clunker, but your first moped never loses its charm. I love Murray to bits; heapos;s just a few bits short of being road-worthy.
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