I'm back and again, secure in the humble role of "he who has temporary charge of the chickens." I drove south, attending a ceremony to honor San Diego's local heroes. Two relatives were being honored. Sponsored by the Red Cross, the ceremony involved breakfast in the U.S.S. Midway's hangar. An upbeat blond t.v. newsperson hosted. There was applause, granola, yoghurt, some sort of egg-like substance. Russell Honore, the lieutenant general in charge of Katrina relief gave a speech advised us all to be prepared, which he said meant buying one of the Red Cross's kits. He likened prepared people to sheep dogs who "protect flocks against wolves." There was nothing about stiffening the sinew and disguising fair nature with hard-favored rage, but I did wonder if that was also on the agenda. I returned more recently from Walla Walla, which is according to Wikipedia a "diminutive" meaning "land of many waters," so called of course, because compared to the rest of the Pacific Northwest it's really pretty dry. I found in my stack of mail a Pendleton catalog. Among the items I could buy therefrom, should I so wish, is a "Chief Joseph Jacquard Bath Towel." Hin-mah-too-yah-lat-kekt, you'll recall, led an epic fighting retreat from his homelands near Walla Walla all the way to the Canadian border. A thousand miles of hard fighting and you get to be on a towel. I quote, "Arrowheads symbolizing his bravery point in all directions of Mother Earth." You could also buy the design on a bathrobe. Going in "all directions" I remember from camping tours of France and Italy. My Dad would follow signposts which promised that outcome. We'd often get lost. Out east I drove past the Herring Funeral Home. According to the web it's one of several. I was reminded of Hector Brocklebank phoning the "cremi." Here's a recording of that: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W4Z5L9eOJho&list=PL7BECCC430634472F&index=2 While away I read "The World According to Jeremy Clarkson." He hosts "Top Gear," and wrote for the "Sunday Times." He's conservative, or even possibly Conservative. His writing reminds me of puppet shows, so predictable and familiar are the characters and stances he employs: the domestically-useless husband, the nanny-state bureaucrat, the unimaginative art museum curator. Nevertheless, I find him funny. At age eighteen he wanted to go to University but instead went to work for the "Rotherham Advertiser." At the time the book was published Brunel gave him an honorary doctorate which, he argues, is not bad for a "thicky." We know he's not that, but in today's local dark and gloom I find myself wondering if, while achieving measurable objectives and core wotsits, in addition to opening him to more nuanced judgements, we'd now train the wit out of him. I hope not. Carry on, David Ritchie, Portland, Oregon------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html