As I struggled to pen my first post this morning, I realized that I started my journalism career 26 years ago to the day. I was kicking around my parents home on Cape Cod with a fresh graduate degree and no job. I bumped into the editor of the Cape Cod Times, who asked if I'd like to string for the news desk. I said sure. My first assignment was to cover a small rally to commemorate Dr. KIng in the parking lot of the town building in Hyannis. It was a bitterly cold gray day, and maybe 100 people turned up. I listened to the heartfelt talks, took some notes, hurried back to the newspaper office a few blocks away, got someone to log me into the then cutting edge ATEX system, and wrote probably a 1000 words. About 200 words saw print, and not many of them looked like mine. I was miffed. And I was hooked on journalism. In the year that followed I covered everything from a love-triangle murder on Nantucket to town hearings in Dennis over the use of "nitrogen rich" sewage treatment effluent to water the public golf course. It seems like a long time ago, and then again, not really at all.