Driving to school. Light snow, much slush; the windshield is opaque in seconds. I hit the washer button. Dribble, dribble, nothing. Oh great. Wonderful timing. You always run of washer fluid just when you need it, just like shoelaces always snap when you need to wear shoes. Isn’t it ironic? What’s more, now I have to buy a gallon of washer fluid, and the tank only holds 3/4s of a gallon. I mean come on! It’s like hot dogs coming 10 to a pack, and the buns coming in groups of eight! It’s like coke being sold by the gram or kilo, like most drug users know the metric system! It’s like trying to tell a stranger about rock and roll!

What the hell am I drinking? Back in a moment.

Oh, okay. Wiper fluid. (Waste not, want not.) (You know, that sentence doesn’t have the same resonance in modern America it might have had in 18th century England.)

We’re still driving. I’m peering through the muddy windshield, looking for a gas station. From the back seat:

“Daddy, is there anything stronger than the wind?”

She had heard about a big wave that wrecked some people’s houses, and she wanted to know if everyone was okay. What to say? I told her that lots of people had gone to help the people who lost their homes. But were they okay?

I lied. I said they were all fine. She seemed satisfied and went back to looking out the window. Two blocks later:

“And their dogs?”

“They all swam back.”

“Dogs don’t swim.”

“Sure they do. Not Jasper; he hates to swim. But some dogs are very good at it.”

“Oh. But what is stronger than the wind?”

Of course, nothing is stronger than the wind, depending on how you define it. “Our house,” I said.

“Oh! Okay. Great.”

And thus the world was restored and rebalanced. It's that easy when you're 4 1/2. Someday I'm sure there will be a day when I'm content to let a day end with questions instead of certainties. I'm not sure I trust myself to recognize that day when it comes. But I have a lot to learn about these things.

Good book progress, which is why I once again have el Bleato Lame-O; until it’s done, the time I usually spend chipping away at this thing is spent on the book. it goes well, except for the whole writing-a-picture-book-in-Word thing, which is as easy as pushing large toads into small cans. I can’t wait for Pages, which looks easier for this sort of job.

The photographer is coming on Friday, which means I have to get the house ready. Might as well tell you: it’s the Washington Post. Now everyone will be able to point and laugh at my home decorating choices; I suppose it’s only fair. What should I wear? Should I wear clothes I wear around the house, or pretend I stalk the halls in a quilted jacket and ascot? You’ll have to wait.

I’ve decided to make a book out of Joe Ohio, as well as break it out as a separate website. I worried that this inflation of the original modest idea might ruin it, since nothing spoils a nice little idea like deciding it’s a great big one, but since I’ve set a time limit on writing these things – 20 minutes tops, and then I’m off – I’m not worried.

Anyway, here’s today’s entry. I’m done for the day, and have earned the right to watch something, anything, and eat cheese. Goes well with a nice 04 isopropyl alcohol.
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New Joe here.

Perm link: here.