It was getting dark by the time I left for Grinnell. The Burlington Barn was empty in the cavernous way that temporary living quarters tend to be when their inhabitants have all left for a holiday. I stopped at the post office to mail a package and the woman in line next to me began a conversation with me that I did not solicit. I tried to be friendly and concur with her observations regarding the latest commemorative stamps. In general, I'm trying to be more personable with strangers, because I think I come across as an asshole to a lot of people before they get to know me. Then again, there's probably not a whole lot I can do about that.

On the way to Grinnell I saw the following things: A car with a bumper sticker that said, "If you want a country run by religion, move to Iran," the sun setting, and a deer. I was on Highway 6, thinking about how I should probably have my highbeams on to avoid collisions with wildlife, and no sooner had I turned them on than an adult doe ran across the road. It was a close call.

There's nothing quite like driving down Elm St at night, in the winter, and seeing the lights on in the windows of the big old houses. Seems like the scales have fallen from my eyes and I can now appreciate being home in a way I could not before.

Hey, let's go drink some beer.

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