so for the foreseeable I’ll be staying pretty local…like the backyard for lunch and the studio couch [with its heating pad and Rick Atkinson’s histories of WWll] or computer most days. Insult to injury [other way round, really] the Mysterious Rash* I’d had for weeks has taken the opportunity to become increasingly virulent, rendering recovery [thankfully occurring]

a bit more excruciating than it ought to be while the ’45, given my present immobility, remains too low to be of any use.

Friday we had a visitation; Luz and Chicha, doing their best to survive our backyard Disturbance in the Fabric of Time as they transited through from Vancouver to SoCal

where Christine and Izel were visiting her parents prior to her show at ParraschHeijnen.

They were here just long enough for the dogs [sans Aggie-the-troublemaker] to commingle before loading up, heading south and leaving us

to our reduced rounds…mornings indoors, lunch and after in sun and fresh air on the pad,

reading until time to ease onto the couch for a little heating pad treatment…one pad to

another in spaces more circumscribed than those son Bryan was enjoying outside of Yakima;

The inferior interiors here could at best become fairly claustrophobic fairly

quickly as long as the perspective continues to end at the gate, which opened Tuesday

as Linda’s show came back from Brian’s; all that planning, all that effort and worry now,

after barely two months out in the world, reduced

to its

constituent

pieces, stored away.

While the world outside goes mad and an X-Prez promises to keep his promises to the NRA

[he always does], referencing the mass murder of children in quotes as a “massacre”…like if not that, what, then? Doing a great job, Donny, though for whom or what who can say…I shudder to think, actually.

*It’s been floated that that distraction may have contributed to a certain inattentiveness as to where that chair on the porch was prior to the eclipse but who can say…it happened, so here we are.  Mending.