Friday, 3:30 p.m.
On the no. 81 bus to Jefferson Park, a chatty woman with a cane helps me hoist my suitcase. She offers to keep an eye on it for me and tells me how she's foiled several pickpockets on the bus. As we crawl up Lawrence Avenue, another woman, who can barely speak English apparently, offers to hold my shoulder bag on her lap, but that's not necessary. We're all in this together!

Later, I sit down next to the woman with the cane, who tells me her son's fiance has come up with an innovative alternative to cranberry sauce: applesauce mixed with melted Red-Hots and cherries. Yikes! Time to get off the bus.

Saturday, noon.
There's a lot of snow in suburban Maryland, and they don't really know how to deal with it. I appreciate for the first time Chicago's efficient dealings with snow. Intersections are cleared, salt is sprinkled, all with a minimum of fuss. This businesslike manner hasn't made its way East yet. In the downtown area of Frederick, we see some icicles that could easily put your eye out. Let's move along!

Sunday, 4 p.m.
Before it gets too dark, I wander around downtown DC, where nothing is open. Where the shops are open, everyone working there seems unnaturally friendly.

I search hopelessly for a Sunday Washington Post, but all I can find is the New York Times, alas. In the pale blue light, with everything silent and icy, the streets and buildings seem white and clean to me.

It's DC, I keep thinking. I could see a little piece of history today. I could run into anyone here! I could run into some of our leaders and we could sit down over some hot chocolate and work out our differences. It could happen. I mean, if something was open.

Monday, 7:30 a.m.
In the frosty morning, before the day officially begins, I find a little time to walk some more. I make it as far as the Washington Monument.

What's that I see? I think it's a bureaucrat! However, everyone is so bundled up, it's hard to tell the bureaucrats from the regular people.

The rest of the day is filled with meetings, cell phone calls, panic about the LCD projector, and finally dinner with Grumpy Sean and M. Hey, pass the chocolate mousse!

Tuesday , 5 a.m.
There seems to be a nasty stomach virus going around, and I've got it. This is not good.

Tuesday, 11 a.m.
Sitting in my hotel room, drinking ginger ale and chewing Melba toast. It just doesn't get any better than this.

Wednesday, 3 p.m.
After opting for an early flight home, I find myself back in Chicago. I feel fine as long as I don't eat anything, but I suspect this is not a long-term solution.

The rusty scenery, indifference of service employees, and urine-scented passageway to the CTA all tell me I'm home again. On the Walkman "All Things Must Pass" reminds me that it certainly wouldn't take much for tomorrow to be an improvement on today. And here I am, back in Jefferson Park, heading for the No. 81 bus.