#239

Hi, friends.
Here's the art. . .
Yes, Jo and I have successfully moved our lives, our business, and all of our possessions to our new home in Sherwood, Oregon. As most of you know, it's really quite tiring to sort through, box, and transport every single thing that you own. It's also dangerous work. My legs and arms are as bruised as they are tired, and I have used up all of the band-aids and begun making my own out of paper towels and shipping labels.


I took my first walk through our new suburban surroundings last night at 1 AM. It was a little different than my usual walk under the stars on a secluded beach. I wasn't out ten minutes before a spotlight fell on me from a car approaching me from behind. Yup, it was the fuzz. The spotlight went out and he continued up the street, until reaching the intersection where he turned on all his lights, did a quick u-turn, then pulled up near me and gave me the full blinding spotlight welcome. Hands out of the pockets and palms forward.
"What are you doing up so late?" asked the voice behind the second hand-held light in my face.
"I'm just a night owl."
"How old are you?"
That one caught me off guard, and I didn't remember for a second.
"Um. . .37."
"37? You look a lot younger. I thought you were a juvenile out past curfew."
"Thanks."
"Do you have ID?"
"I do."
Eventually the lights got redirected, and my eyes adjusted to see a short, friendly looking Hispanic cop in his twenties. We talked about my moving there, the schools in town, and the festival coming up, until it was just another pleasant conversation with a neighbor.

So now I have to decide if I want to cut my hair and start dressing like all of the other joggers and power walkers in town, or do I want to keep my ID handy. If you've been reading these newsletters for a while, I'm sure you already know the answer.

-Dylan