It's August 18

I flew to Portland, supported my favorite bookstore in serious fashion, had dinner with a dear friend, and went to bed by 9. Drove to Belgrade, caught the boat to Pine Island, didn’t even recognize my radiant oldest and so first waved at my radiant youngest and his BFF, Z. An hour of hugs, stories, thank yous, “do you have everything you need?,” goodbyes, tears, and back to the mainland. Drove to Augusta for lunch at Margarita’s, our post-camp tradition, and then to Norwalk for the night.

It’s since been a whirlwind, and I am now in WV with J, O, and two besties, Z and H. They are wonderful kids, and this adventure has been such a welcome reprieve from the horrors of Covid-deniers, the spread of Delta, scarce ICU beds, Afghanistan, Haiti, wild fires, drought, heat, floods, and so forth.

I am thankful for people like Gregg Popovich, basketball coach extraordinaire who is always on the right side of things; Laurie Bristow, UK Ambassador to Afghanistan who is showing remarkable integrity and courage; the women in Afghanistan showing remarkable courage in the face of Taliban rule; and all who are setting limits against those who refuse vaccinations and/or masking.

I am thankful for nature and its splendor and magic and the hope it insists upon and the reward it will provide for even the slightest of assistance or respect.

I’m thankful for the Irish lit thread I follow on Twitter; despite being on my own with four boys and five cats right now, I’ve finished Boys Don’t Cry by Fiona Scarlet and am on pace to finish tomorrow, My Name is Leon, by Kit De Waal. Both are marvelous, and in my queue are many other modern Irish writers’ books as recommended by the Irish Literary Times feed.

Also thankful for Ted Lasso and its harmonious cast, Jeremy Clarkson and his farm and its merry band of caretakers/characters, good cinnamon rolls, and my very good fortune in this trying thing called life.

Be safe, friends. Love to you all.