But life has brought us to the Garden State and, I've got to say, aside from the constant ache I feel in my ass from being repeatedly violated by our township on our property taxes every three months, it ain't all that bad up here. Still, there has been something missing from our lives. Something that used to bring us great joy and that we really took for granted for so long ...

Friday was a 26-hour day that began in the dark hours of morning at Newark Airport and ended at a North Beach strip club. The devil built Columbus and Broadway out of discarded bottles of original sin, brother. And he called it good. Believe.

A little plug for a friend's band, who could open for Coldplay.

When I finally made it downstairs, shaking and about ten pounds lighter than I was the night before, the first of my neighbors began showing up with their July 4th game faces on, all full of energy and wondering what the hell kind of party this was where everybody was chewing Rolaids and talking about hairs on dogs and squinting at each other from behind sunglasses under drizzly skies.

Last week, I stepped out of my comfort zone a bit and joined a group called Thirty-Something Bloggers.

And, on the other side, Harleys rumbling in the parking lot. Tattoos on display. Double D moms with "Don't Be Jealous" t-shirts. Suburban grey-beard banker bikers, bandana'd and leather-vested and flaunting their mid-life crises a month or two early.

Dallas last week is now a whirl of memories, all good.

We met Lily tonight. So beautiful. Congratulations E&M!

One way to measure a lifetime is by how much forgetting you do, and how well you do it.

I'm back home. In DC. We flew in last night. And even though I truly loved seeing friends and family in Dallas, I am very relieved to be back on the east coast again. I feel grounded. I woke to the familiar sounds of car horns and sirens this morning, which kind of gave me a warm fuzzy feeling. And I'm ready to re-train my legs on how to do this thing called walking.