Maybe shades of what Bilbo felt like?

Some weeks ago, my tremendously thoughtful wife, Kate, informed me of several facts:

• that I needed to clear my calendar for a three-day excursion this weekend - Friday night through Monday evening.
• that we would be traveling by airplane, but no passports are required.
• That we will be going someplace that’s roughly equivalent in climate to where we are now, “possibly a little warmer.”

After many, many years of mutually agreed upon low-key birthdays, this is a radical departure from the norm. I have been excited for weeks, and am eagerly anticipating the rare feeling I’ll have this afternoon: that of stepping out of the house without being on a plan I’ve helped set up. (It is entirely possible that someone reading this is at our destination right now, for all I know.)

Also, just in case I’m never heard of again (and with apologies both to Alan Moore and any non-graphic-novel reading friends for this extended quote):

Oblivion gallops closer, favoring the spur, sparing the rein…I think we will be gone soon. Kate is faster than Sydney. Perhaps faster than me. Return seems unlikely. This last entry. Will shortly mail to only people can trust. Tell Piper I need to check my maildrop. She believes me. If reading this now, whether I am alive or dead, you will know truth. Whatever the precise nature of this conspiracy, Kate Hirsch responsible. Have done best to make this legible. Believe it paints a disturbing picture. Appreciate your recent support and hope world survives long enough for this to reach you. But Trump remains ascendant and writing is on wall. For my own part, regret nothing. Have lived life, free from compromise…and step into the shadow now without complaint.