It’s Thursday. Bill Lee has finally lost his job, a boat capsized off the coast of Australia, Assange is seeking asylum in Ecuador (I know that’s where I’d want to live…), but he will probably be unable to get out of England (he’s in the Ecuadorian Embassy).
Papi hit a grand slam, the Red Sox are in fourth place, ahead of the Blue Jays, but still behind the O’s. The baseball universe is still in flux.
Fidel Castro does yoga…who knew?
It’s going to be 102 here with the heat index (which is really all I care about, you know how hot I will feel). I will work a 16hr day.
Barbara is on her way to Roanoke to visit family. I will pick her up there next Friday and we’ll travel to Charlottesville to pick up Rachel and then on to The Porches.
No, I have not heard from Rachel in a couple of days; I continue to worry about her in the midst of The High Park Fire.
You should go read my poetry and essays on Yahoo!, I get paid when you click on the links to my writing on that page, so go do it. Or you could read the guest blog I did yesterday here. It’s a good story about mothering angsty boys, and traumatic brain injury.