Forgot about a radio segment that Jenn had scheduled a long time back for this afternoon. Got the call while painting a face at the parish festival, so left my daughter (my first subject 13 years ago; we painted her face for her cancer treatments as a form of silly escapism), who now paints with me, to handle the long line (many unhappy faces) and ran to the far side of the church to do the 15-minute segment right then under a grove of trees.

It was a couple of guys down in San Antonio, one of whom was a civil affairs specialist who did a tour in Afghanistan, so the questions and dialogue were unusually informed.

Still, it was weird to shift gears from painting tiger masks and Colts insignias (and generally stewing in my Alka-Seltzer-enhanced cold stupor; I threw out my voice this a.m. cheering my older son to a tenth-place XC meet finish and his best-ever time) and kick it immediately into high speaking gear.

I seriously needed my "singer's secret" throat spray.

As I was talking, I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the church's stained-glass windows and realized I was still painted up as William Wallace in full killing-English painted mask.

Just then our priest, Father Tom, walked by, spotted me and raised his fist in the air and yelled---sotto voce--"FREEEEEEEEDOM!"

I had to turn away to avoid laughing on the air and finished the radio segment.

Then Steve DeAngelis called after getting out of another marathon Pentagon meeting in DC (Steve's just back from his 6th trip to Kurdistan, Iraq) and wanted to data dump some more on emerging issues (I've had people in the Building working Kurdistan tell me they'd clone Steve if they could, to which I reply, "Enterra will take 4 copies when you get it done!"). I had to beg off til later, as the line was really long when I got back to the tent.

So many masters ...