After reading Wikipedia’s definition of hippie, I wonder if I’ve selected the appropriate sentiment, given my life and lifestyle.  I’ll assume the “inner” modifier makes it all okay. 

I resist collecting things.  Yes, I still do, but I’ve just realized that I collect numbers.  I LOVE numbers.  My daughter just got her well-baby checkup numbers, and I had to go back over the record to make sure I had ALL the numbers.  Why?  She’s obviously perfectly normal.  I don’t need numbers to tell me that.  It’s because I’m a numbers collector.  Yup.  Judging by the numbers of baby books with reams of pages for numbers, I’ll guess that I’m not the only one. 

How on earth is collecting numbers an inner hippie?  Dang.  I reveal myself again and again to have no hippie in me whatsoever.  Well, I’ll try looking again tomorrow.

• Coming up from a cave-like interior into gorgeous sunlight with a hint of autumn in its dry warmth.

• “Your daughter has a face you could get addicted to.” Comment from a new friend with a toddler.