Pseudo-rationalist that I am, I have always been strangely susceptible to fretting about the jinx, portents and the evil eye; I was for example unable to mention any aspect of my wife's pregnancy back when we were expecting the kid without touching wood and, given how well that talismanic little bit of ritual turned out, I continue to engage in a few minor contortions to insure moderate good fortune. Chief among these of course is the fairly simple practice of what you might call activist absit omen, in which I am loathe to mention projects underway until they have reached a some relatively safe conclusion.
Thus my silence in this space owes itself, in part, to what has been the ongoing project of moving my antiquarian book shop into a commercial warehouse and processing space adjacent to a wine and specialty grocery business in our neighborhood. I have the majority of my inventory up onto shelves and with the arrival today by freight handler of my new book truck, I am perhaps ready to declare myself moved in. And while I am not equipped to handle much in the way of walk-in traffic, my stock will continue to be available for perusal by chance or appointment. (One is invited to contact me through my bookselling persona for further detail.)
One might argue that given the fact that I now work outside the home and my child attends kindergarten, I am no longer technically a stay-home father. Perhaps you make a relevant point. This gives me further reason to fret no longer about keeping my updates in this space regular or of patriarchal intention. No doubt I will touch base from time to time, at least as opportunities for the stomach flu present themselves. (Touch wood.)