Words mean something. So do names. "Hampton Roads," no matter how we try, just doesn't. Not outside of this region. Not yet. The question, as we spasm through one more identity crisis, is whether it ever will. And if this region can't agree on a simple thing like a name, what hope is there for agreement on the tough stuff?

Chuck Brown died last week, 40 years after writing part of the soundtrack of my hometown and youth. If my colleagues and friends here are any indication, you may not remember him, if you ever heard of him. That's sad for everybody: For Brown because his music should've made him rich and famous, and for you because his music would've made you smile and dance. For hours.

The list of things that freaked out my 7-year-old self is long: The dark, the basement bathroom, ghosts, an open closet at bedtime, the neighbor with the perfect lawn, striped stones, Chutes and Ladders, the last frame of Star Trek's credits and - to the point - Maurice Sendak.

I left Logan International Airport at rush hour on a diesel bus headed toward Boston and a seminar on cities at the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy. After the bus converted to electricity, it descended into a concrete tunnel. A dozen minutes later, it deposited me at the subway, which carried me the rest of the way to Cambridge.

I hurt my head in the year of health care reform. One of my correspondents used that opportunity to explain that she wouldn't pay for my stupidity, which was admittedly considerable.

In case you haven't noticed, I'm not much of a fan of the current proposal to toll the Midtown and Downtown tunnels. It's too expensive, too disruptive, too secretive. More than that, it's just a bad deal. Which, sadly, makes it not particularly unusual from government.

Communities don't just happen. The world's great settlements may begin by accident and develop by accretion, but that can't last. Eventually, somebody decides he wants to put a tannery next to a tavern next to a tabernacle, and before you know it, you end up with zoning and planning and rules.

Everyone can agree that lower unemployment is welcome news.

Except that everyone can’t. Not in a political climate that requires partisans to claim the sky is blue everywhere except where the other party runs things.

There, of course, the storm clouds are gathering and the end is nigh.

The last thing in the world that anyone expects these days is political courage. That would involve telling us stuff we don't want to hear. Telling us unpleasant truths about spending and taxing and entitlements. We tend to vote against people like that.

It's not often that so many people promise to pray for me. After last week's column on gay marriage, I got more than a few emails and calls letting me know to expect a few amens.