June 5, 1992

Once again I have only the dimmest memory of the specific circumstances of going to bed last night.  How far into Nick at Nite's evening line-up did I remain conscious?  I really have no idea.

I almost miss the WAPL board meeting in Oshkosh.  I stop at City Hall and the library to get the checks ready for distribution.  Ilene informs me that Marie has called in sick.  Fortunately, Susan is willing to fill in for the day.

Ten miles into the trip, I curse myself for not bringing along the camcorder.  I wanted to shoot a memory-lane video as I drove around Oshkosh.  It will have to be done at another time.

I'm fifteen minutes late for the meeting, but the group present is still chatting informally once I arrive since they don't have a quorum.  My presence takes care of that problem.  I'm expecting a short meeting, under two hours, meaning that we'll be done around noon, but it takes us until nearly 2 to get through the agenda.  That gives me only the briefest of opportunities to walk through the library and greet familiar faces.  On a Friday afternoon in the summer when the reduced 37-hour work week has one into effect, the possibilities are greatly reduced.   Except for John Stoneberg, who is eager to get back to Eau Claire, the board members eat lunch at Tortilla Flats, my choice -- and my first visit since the restaurant has moved into its new location.  The cheese crisp is still as massive and tasty and filling as ever.

I always experience such a tingle of disbelief whenever I visit Oshkosh, as if I have returned to a special dreamworld.  I did so little here professionally, but so much socially, which is the area I gave more priority anyway -- though maybe I underestimate my achievements here.  I wonder how I would feel about myself today if I were still there, still single perhaps, still content to have biking and drugs as my main sources of pleasure.  I think I'd be an awfully weary, self-loathing man.

Time constraints do not allow any surprise visits,  I think about how much I'd like to see Bob for even a few minutes.  Driving past Dave and Lynn's duplex, I notice a swing set and sandbox in the back yard.   For the people who rent the upstairs apartment?  Or have Dave and Lynn moved elsewhere?  For all I know, they could be in another state.  I haven't been in touch with them for nearly two years.

The Nissan is one of a multitude of vehicles speeding along highway 151.  I return to Madison in time to cash my check at the credit union, but not to contact JoAnna about picking up the boys.

We spent the evening at Festa Italia with Larry and Martha and Michael (and Martha's sister Liz).  It's so much fun watching Andy interact with other children his age.  He makes friends so quickly.