Eleven is long limbs and inbetween.

Eleven is a master number, signifying instinct and intuition.

Eleven is not quite noon and not yet midnight, an almost there.

Eleven is over a decade, veering toward old.

Is 11 vintage?

Eleven is an angel, symbol of spiritual enlightenment.

At 11, I was rolling around Skate City, a suburban disco ball as my guide. I was eating Capn’ Crunch by the case. I was riding a bike for what seemed like miles but was probably just blocks.

And now, this month, this blog turns 11.

“And so, let’s go,” I wrote that first day in 2008, “not with the thunder of the self-absorbed, but in the same way a single word, spoken softly, carries great weight.”

And here we are. Still.

Thanks for skating with me.