FIRE SAFETY . . . If alerted to a fire: Determine if safe to vacate by looking through door viewer or opening of door slightly with safety chain on.
As promised, here begins a small number of transcripts from my journal in the days before and after the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001. Most won’t have commentary, and eventually, you will be able to read them all together.
I penned this entry in New Castle, Delaware, on the morning after our anniversary as Lisa and I made our way to D.C. to visit a law school friend. The hotel was the sort of establishment that E.B. Farnum might run (at least on Deadwood, that is). We were on the cusp of moving from Motel 6 to Marriott-type joints.
Over the span of the next two months we travelled a lot. Air travel was easy but not convenient. The airlines had us “by the short hairs,” as Al Swearengen might say. It was the kind of environment where one would gladly pay a skycap ten dollars to check-in curbside (without bags) just to avoid the terminal. Though we drove to D.C., we flew to Salt Lake City en route to my mother’s wedding in Wyoming. The week after, I flew to San Diego on business.
Four years out of school, our lives were built on dislocation. We were economic and academic refugees in our own country. And four years wed, we were still figuring out married life. We were slouching toward the jet set, and it wasn’t bad. My journal was largely born out of distance, a desire to remember what happened to me, and the sense that my mind was slipping without education and nearby friends to challenge me.
