I feel like I should be writing more here.

When I had finished barely-more than two years of lost.in.vancouver, you, the faithful audience, had been treated to seven-hundred and twenty-six entries of varying quality blogness. That works out to (pop out those calculators now) an average of twenty-six entries per month. Average, of course. And that’s counting the formative, edit-by-hand years. But whatever.

This space, counting this entry, has been talleyed at a humble one hundred and eighty three entries, for a working average of thirteen entries per month. Yes, that’s right. Literally half.

Albeit, there isn’t that compulsion to share stories of a far-away place. Many of my readers are from Edmonton — or at least visit often enough that they may not care. But I suppose, that should be all the more reason to peel away at the corners and reveal the secrets below the surface. Right?

Ah, well. It’s raining. It’s been raining for many days now. It’s a long, cold drizzle that makes it feel like autumn, in the middle of August. Maybe the rain is bringing out the sympathetic muse.