Lost journal, call if found

I'm sitting here surrounded by plastic bins full of photographs, old newspapers, old magazines, and old maps, but mostly old photos. I proudly declare that I'm not a keeper of "stuff," but I have to admit that here are the bins and there are the photos, hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of them, and they are not in the trash, but in my office.

The bins are in my office because its too cold to look through them in the garage, where they live. And we must search through them because we can't find Ray's 1977 trip journal. If that seems an odd thing to be looking for, I agree, but in this case it's urgently needed. As I've mentioned previously, I'm slowly grinding out a memoir of our trip through the Soviet Union and am currently faced with what could be a long, entertaining anecdote. And though great bits of this particular incident are indelibly stamped in my gray matter, lots of bits are not.

My trip journal—perhaps out of an excess of self protection—says only, "interesting experience in Horsens, more about that later." But of course there is no later. Jennifer's (age 11) journal says, "We had an interesting experience on a ship. M&D got drunk a bit. Not mom. Dad. He got sick (ugh) in the toilet."

So you can see why this lost journal could be helpful. It's about five inches by seven and dark blue. If you see it please send it home.