At a lovely bookstore a few weeks ago I picked up a book of short stories, “The Pacific” by Mark Helprin. He became one of my favorite authors after I read “Winter’s Tale” a decade or so ago.
A great author like Helprin stuns with insight; not just the ability to weave together words into an exquisite and balanced tapestry, but in the way that tapestry displays deeper truth.
Keep your authors of the Northeast, their tales of profundity and their affairs, contrived significance. Annie Dillard can peer into souls and each time bring home a new message; Kesey gave us life and death and courage right at home in fir-paneled honkey tonks; Robbins’ metaphors leap out their chairs and dance on the tables; and this great author Helprin offers us meaning.
“... Women who are told that they are beautiful and come to believe it not only lose delicacy of soul and sharpness of wit, they forfeit the appealing privacy and loneliness without which real beauty cannot exist. They hardly reflect, as everything reflects upon them, and this makes them dull.”— Mark Helprin, Prelude, “The Pacific.”
Turn off that damn TV.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Greenspan's warning
“If the pernicious drift toward fiscal instability is not arrested and is compounded by a protectionist reversal of globalization, the current account adjustment process could be quite painful for the United States and our trading partners," warned Alan Greenspan on Sunday, October 20 in a speech on the sidelines of the International Monetary Fund and World Bank meetings (read it here).
There is cause for great alarm in that sentence. Partly because of the incompetence of Bush/Cheney. Partly because of the tendency of both Democrats and Republicans to pander.
The “drift toward fiscal instability” is the deficit that Cheney/Bush has run up during its term of office. They are not conservatives. They are statists drawing power from the moral right. They favor a big government profiting special interests, they have run up huge deficits with tax breaks to large corporations and the wealthy while not paying for their war in progress.
The left is not much better. Their hatred of other people’s money makes them economically illiterate. If they get control of government on an agenda that includes opposition to liberal trade, Greenspan’s “protectionist reversal of globalization” could launch another worldwide recession.
At the end of which, China will be even more clearly the most significant economy in the world. If we start banning their T-Shirts, they may stop buying our debt. We need them more than they need us, and some of the recent market chaos may be related to China’s displeasure with our politics. We did not need to fete the Dali Lama.
The Law of Comparative Advantage proves that trade makes all nations wealthier. Protectionism extended the depression and made it worse. Democrats need to recognize that by trying to save in California jobs more cheaply done in Mexico, we hurt U.S. consumers, Mexican workers, and U.S. workers who can not make things for sale to a Mexico that can not pay for them.
Greenspan is giving us another warning. We are walking an edge. Only by more wisdom than we seem to possess, and a great amount of luck, shall we avoid a fall.
There is cause for great alarm in that sentence. Partly because of the incompetence of Bush/Cheney. Partly because of the tendency of both Democrats and Republicans to pander.
The “drift toward fiscal instability” is the deficit that Cheney/Bush has run up during its term of office. They are not conservatives. They are statists drawing power from the moral right. They favor a big government profiting special interests, they have run up huge deficits with tax breaks to large corporations and the wealthy while not paying for their war in progress.
The left is not much better. Their hatred of other people’s money makes them economically illiterate. If they get control of government on an agenda that includes opposition to liberal trade, Greenspan’s “protectionist reversal of globalization” could launch another worldwide recession.
At the end of which, China will be even more clearly the most significant economy in the world. If we start banning their T-Shirts, they may stop buying our debt. We need them more than they need us, and some of the recent market chaos may be related to China’s displeasure with our politics. We did not need to fete the Dali Lama.
The Law of Comparative Advantage proves that trade makes all nations wealthier. Protectionism extended the depression and made it worse. Democrats need to recognize that by trying to save in California jobs more cheaply done in Mexico, we hurt U.S. consumers, Mexican workers, and U.S. workers who can not make things for sale to a Mexico that can not pay for them.
Greenspan is giving us another warning. We are walking an edge. Only by more wisdom than we seem to possess, and a great amount of luck, shall we avoid a fall.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
In the Valley of Elah
“In the Valley of Elah” is not entertainment. It is not an action film, it is not a detective movie. It is an outstanding film about a father looking for his boy, who has gone missing after returning from the war in Iraq.
The acting is supberb. Tommy Lee Jones is understated as the father looking for his soldier son. We are so used to his smart dialogue in other films, here his face tells the tale. Charlize Theron is quite believable as the police detective aiding in that search, and Susan Sarandon owns every one of the few scenes she is in.
Early in the movie, as Jones sets out on his search, he comes upon a school employee of foreign origin who has run the U.S. flag up the pole upside down. Jones educates the man with a soliloquy that requires attention. Listen to his words, to his quiet passion, his love of country.
The movie grinds on in places. It heads full speed at a cliché or two, swerving only at the last minute, especially with Theron’s relationship with her fellow police officers. But the film never loses its believability, the bad guys are not always so bad, the good guys never that good.
We don't find out until halfway through the movie, during a casual conversation in a diner, just how significant the loss of the missing son might be. A lesser director would have played that card, that of the second son, much earlier in the film.
Emotionally, this movie is quite graphic. Not in the blood, guts and gore sense with which so many movies indulge themselves, in that ever-escalating game of overcoming the sensibilities of the audience. Not in the superficially manipulative way that directors of lesser talent whipsaw our emotions.
This movie is emotionally graphic because the emotions are so real, and so honest. Sarandon gives us a mother's loss that will be hard to forget, that should not be forgotten.
Some will see “In the Valley of Elah” as a political film. It actually celebrates values while taking a good look, and makes no apology. “Elah” shows the nobility of the soldier, both active and retired. Tommy Lee Jones, as Hank Deerfield, loves this country, he has sacrificed for this country.
“In the Valley of Elah” helps us understand that war matters. It matters to all of us, it matters to the boys and girls we send to fight in places like Iraq, where the enemy may be hiding behind a child playing in the street. What we ask our young fighters to do has an impact on them, and on us, our culture, our great nation.
The acting is supberb. Tommy Lee Jones is understated as the father looking for his soldier son. We are so used to his smart dialogue in other films, here his face tells the tale. Charlize Theron is quite believable as the police detective aiding in that search, and Susan Sarandon owns every one of the few scenes she is in.
Early in the movie, as Jones sets out on his search, he comes upon a school employee of foreign origin who has run the U.S. flag up the pole upside down. Jones educates the man with a soliloquy that requires attention. Listen to his words, to his quiet passion, his love of country.
The movie grinds on in places. It heads full speed at a cliché or two, swerving only at the last minute, especially with Theron’s relationship with her fellow police officers. But the film never loses its believability, the bad guys are not always so bad, the good guys never that good.
We don't find out until halfway through the movie, during a casual conversation in a diner, just how significant the loss of the missing son might be. A lesser director would have played that card, that of the second son, much earlier in the film.
Emotionally, this movie is quite graphic. Not in the blood, guts and gore sense with which so many movies indulge themselves, in that ever-escalating game of overcoming the sensibilities of the audience. Not in the superficially manipulative way that directors of lesser talent whipsaw our emotions.
This movie is emotionally graphic because the emotions are so real, and so honest. Sarandon gives us a mother's loss that will be hard to forget, that should not be forgotten.
Some will see “In the Valley of Elah” as a political film. It actually celebrates values while taking a good look, and makes no apology. “Elah” shows the nobility of the soldier, both active and retired. Tommy Lee Jones, as Hank Deerfield, loves this country, he has sacrificed for this country.
“In the Valley of Elah” helps us understand that war matters. It matters to all of us, it matters to the boys and girls we send to fight in places like Iraq, where the enemy may be hiding behind a child playing in the street. What we ask our young fighters to do has an impact on them, and on us, our culture, our great nation.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Tom McCall's clarion
"There is a shameless threat to our environment and to the whole quality of life, an unfettered despoiling of the land. Sagebrush subdivisions, coastal ‘condomania,’ and the ravenous rampage of suburbia in the Willamette Valley all threaten to mock Oregon´s status as the environmental model for the nation. We are dismayed that we have not stopped misuse of the land, our most valuable finite natural resource.
"We are in dire need of a state land-use policy, new subdivision laws, and new standards for planning and zoning by cities and counties. The interests of Oregon for today and in the future must be protected from grasping wastrels of the land. We must respect another truism: that unlimited and unregulated growth leads inexorably to a lowered quality of life."
Governor Tom McCall, to the 1973 Legislative Assembly, January 8, 1973.
"We are in dire need of a state land-use policy, new subdivision laws, and new standards for planning and zoning by cities and counties. The interests of Oregon for today and in the future must be protected from grasping wastrels of the land. We must respect another truism: that unlimited and unregulated growth leads inexorably to a lowered quality of life."
Governor Tom McCall, to the 1973 Legislative Assembly, January 8, 1973.
Save Oregon
Measure 37 was sold with lies.
Few voters disagreed that if a couple bought a piece of land on which to retire, newer land use laws should not prevent them from building their home. Oregonians in Action used that to sell Measure 37 to voters in 2004.
The lie was that Measure 37 was actually written by OIA to overturn Oregon land use laws and benefit development companies. The largest contributors to Measure 37 then, and those who oppose Measure 49 now, were rich men, developers and timber companies.
It was a classic bait and switch. A political game played very well and unfamiliar in Oregon, where there was still a certain naive belief in honesty of the process and the wisdom of even uninformed voters. The effete running the campaign against Measure 37 were having a wine party in the Pearl District as they got crushed on election night and Oregon's land use system was destroyed.
Last week I heard “Why can’t I do what I want with my land?” from a woman in Sisters. She has filed a claim for a subdivision on the edge of that mountain town. The answer, pure and simple? Because she never had unlimited rights to do what she wanted. Because what she does on her land affects the rest of us.
Oregon Land Use laws weren’t just an arbitrary move by big government. They were a response by the people of Oregon to protect the quality of life in the state, when to the south, California strip malls were flowing across farm and forest. “Sagebrush subdivisions” near Bend horrified long time Oregonians. “Don’t Californicate Oregon, “was the cry.
So we in Oregon enacted land use laws. The public was involved then, and has been involved since in the zoning of land. Many zones were appealed and modified during that time. There was success. Growth occurred where it would do the most good, do the least harm.
It is not a wide open world anymore, folks. Water is limited. Air is limited. Roads are limited. Money for schools is limited. Unlimited sprawl has a very real cost to all of us. Supporters of Measure 37, who are now the wealthy opponents of Measure 49, want us to pay those costs while they make millions.
The woman I talked to last week could have built a subdivision on her land in the early 1970s, but all it was worth was to raise cattle. Even today she could build a subdivision if the land was incorporated into the growth boundary, if there were roads for the houses, stores for those houses, places for children to play.
The value of her land went up partly because of the very Oregon land use laws that she and OIA are trying to overturn. The protected views, the green space, the adequate transportation, and restrictions on her neighbors who bought their land in the 1980s have all made her land more valuable.
“If the state wants to restrict what I do, why shouldn’t they pay for that?" she asked. Because if she wants to turn her ranch into a subdivision, it is our right as neighbors to ask her to offset the loss to the rest of us. The process is there to assure that she will pay her share while making millions off land use laws that kept Oregon livable.
Few voters disagreed that if a couple bought a piece of land on which to retire, newer land use laws should not prevent them from building their home. Oregonians in Action used that to sell Measure 37 to voters in 2004.
The lie was that Measure 37 was actually written by OIA to overturn Oregon land use laws and benefit development companies. The largest contributors to Measure 37 then, and those who oppose Measure 49 now, were rich men, developers and timber companies.
It was a classic bait and switch. A political game played very well and unfamiliar in Oregon, where there was still a certain naive belief in honesty of the process and the wisdom of even uninformed voters. The effete running the campaign against Measure 37 were having a wine party in the Pearl District as they got crushed on election night and Oregon's land use system was destroyed.
Last week I heard “Why can’t I do what I want with my land?” from a woman in Sisters. She has filed a claim for a subdivision on the edge of that mountain town. The answer, pure and simple? Because she never had unlimited rights to do what she wanted. Because what she does on her land affects the rest of us.
Oregon Land Use laws weren’t just an arbitrary move by big government. They were a response by the people of Oregon to protect the quality of life in the state, when to the south, California strip malls were flowing across farm and forest. “Sagebrush subdivisions” near Bend horrified long time Oregonians. “Don’t Californicate Oregon, “was the cry.
So we in Oregon enacted land use laws. The public was involved then, and has been involved since in the zoning of land. Many zones were appealed and modified during that time. There was success. Growth occurred where it would do the most good, do the least harm.
It is not a wide open world anymore, folks. Water is limited. Air is limited. Roads are limited. Money for schools is limited. Unlimited sprawl has a very real cost to all of us. Supporters of Measure 37, who are now the wealthy opponents of Measure 49, want us to pay those costs while they make millions.
The woman I talked to last week could have built a subdivision on her land in the early 1970s, but all it was worth was to raise cattle. Even today she could build a subdivision if the land was incorporated into the growth boundary, if there were roads for the houses, stores for those houses, places for children to play.
The value of her land went up partly because of the very Oregon land use laws that she and OIA are trying to overturn. The protected views, the green space, the adequate transportation, and restrictions on her neighbors who bought their land in the 1980s have all made her land more valuable.
“If the state wants to restrict what I do, why shouldn’t they pay for that?" she asked. Because if she wants to turn her ranch into a subdivision, it is our right as neighbors to ask her to offset the loss to the rest of us. The process is there to assure that she will pay her share while making millions off land use laws that kept Oregon livable.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Westlund for State Treasurer
Ben Westlund will make a great governor. Which is why we should elect him State Treasurer.
Oh, Westlund will do a great job as treasurer, too. He knows the numbers. He likes the numbers. The fact that he is not a CPA is not a handicap. The job is a policy position, after all.
What does this have to do with Westlund as governor? In many ways Westlund is far more qualified for that role than any other, and more qualified than anyone else in state politics. He has been a state representative. He has been a state senator. And now, if we elect him, he will have been state treasurer.
To that training we add the man himself: Westlund has vision. He has heart. He had cancer and rather than retreat, he lived life even more fully: that life he chose to lead was one of public service, not sitting on an island somewhere playing golf.
While he can tell you more than you want to know about anything in government, he can also crystalize in 30 seconds the essence of complicated policy. He also has the knowledge of the game inside of the capitol building that can get things done that seem beyond reach.
Which will, when Kulongoski stops warming the chair in the governor’s office in two years, make Ben Westlund the most highly trained and qualified candidate for governor we have had in the state in a long, long time.
Oh, Westlund will do a great job as treasurer, too. He knows the numbers. He likes the numbers. The fact that he is not a CPA is not a handicap. The job is a policy position, after all.
What does this have to do with Westlund as governor? In many ways Westlund is far more qualified for that role than any other, and more qualified than anyone else in state politics. He has been a state representative. He has been a state senator. And now, if we elect him, he will have been state treasurer.
To that training we add the man himself: Westlund has vision. He has heart. He had cancer and rather than retreat, he lived life even more fully: that life he chose to lead was one of public service, not sitting on an island somewhere playing golf.
While he can tell you more than you want to know about anything in government, he can also crystalize in 30 seconds the essence of complicated policy. He also has the knowledge of the game inside of the capitol building that can get things done that seem beyond reach.
Which will, when Kulongoski stops warming the chair in the governor’s office in two years, make Ben Westlund the most highly trained and qualified candidate for governor we have had in the state in a long, long time.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
First snow
The storm that blew through yesterday laid upon the mountains finally their first blanket of snow. From the hilltop here, you can see rock falls and outcroppings jutting still black through the fresh white dusting on the dormant volcano. From here you can not tell if the snow on the mountain is two inches or two feet thick.
The sun in Fall is so bright for lacking warmth. It brilliantly etches trees, mountains, squinting from light flat and harsh. How can the sun be so cold? In spring or late summer it is softer, yet so full and warm. It must be the way light polarizes as it bends and bounces through the whisper thin skin of air to fall upon the mountains.
The twins sit at the table in the trailer on this Saturday morning. I worry that when the house is finished in a month and they have their own room that I will be deprived of this closeness of hearing them think aloud to each other only five feet away from the couch where I write, of having them warble like wrens about anything and everything and nothing at all.
Right after eggs K.C. was strumming a rubber band and asked if a musical instrument could be made of rubber bands. I had a new pair of sneakers still in the box, we got the box and stretched the rubber band over the opening. I explained frequency. Within a few minutes, she was playing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,” as if on a guitar. I told her it was now an instrument, and we could even mark the notes, “A through G” on the side of the box.
A thirty foot travel trailer is not always crowded, even when filled.
My second small pot of coffee is done, and I look at news of Oregon and the world: Cheney/Bush attempt to derail real action on global warming; Portland doused in the rainiest day of 2007 (the storm that whitened my mountains); Cal versus Oregon; drug free zones; truck crashes.
We are so much a part of it and so far apart from it, a day at a time in the trailer on the hill at the foot of the mountains with their first frosting of snow.
The sun in Fall is so bright for lacking warmth. It brilliantly etches trees, mountains, squinting from light flat and harsh. How can the sun be so cold? In spring or late summer it is softer, yet so full and warm. It must be the way light polarizes as it bends and bounces through the whisper thin skin of air to fall upon the mountains.
The twins sit at the table in the trailer on this Saturday morning. I worry that when the house is finished in a month and they have their own room that I will be deprived of this closeness of hearing them think aloud to each other only five feet away from the couch where I write, of having them warble like wrens about anything and everything and nothing at all.
Right after eggs K.C. was strumming a rubber band and asked if a musical instrument could be made of rubber bands. I had a new pair of sneakers still in the box, we got the box and stretched the rubber band over the opening. I explained frequency. Within a few minutes, she was playing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star,” as if on a guitar. I told her it was now an instrument, and we could even mark the notes, “A through G” on the side of the box.
A thirty foot travel trailer is not always crowded, even when filled.
My second small pot of coffee is done, and I look at news of Oregon and the world: Cheney/Bush attempt to derail real action on global warming; Portland doused in the rainiest day of 2007 (the storm that whitened my mountains); Cal versus Oregon; drug free zones; truck crashes.
We are so much a part of it and so far apart from it, a day at a time in the trailer on the hill at the foot of the mountains with their first frosting of snow.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Straight "A's"
The twins have straight “A’s” so far. Living with me and in a tipi on a hilltop one-third of the time during the school year, with their mother in a house near the creek two-thirds, they are making this transition.
They are not brilliant the way that some of their friends are brilliant: they work, they slog, they are able at age 13 to put in four hours on a project, they do their homework. That will serve them better, I think.
I barked at them last week for not setting aside enough time to study for the Social Studies test, I growled when they told me that was why they did not know all the answers. I felt like the stupid one when told one girl scored 54 out of 50 with the extra credit, the other 53 out of 50. “I missed four but got seven of the extra credit,” she explained.
I felt stupid only until I heard her pride as she told me, without words but with the inflection in her voice, “See, Dada, I have got this under control.” It is not supposed to be easy, struggle in a safe environment is learning essential lessons.
Each with her own style, her own strength, the twins know they are different with their golden brown skin and deep black hair with highlights of henna when the sun watches them with an oblique glance, almost tomboys with their lack of understanding of girly girls, not quite getting that obsession with showing too much to boys (they are young, it may come soon).
We celebrate independence, talk about the loneliness of being on the outside, hint at the painful joy of self-direction. The day will come when I introduce them to the nobility of the outlaw, why the outlaw is always necessary, how the outlaw gives herds an option, a warning, a dynamic force that highlights the dangers of conformity.
But now there is the girls’ quiet knowing they are enveloped in grace: wrapped in the love of those close to them, part of a universe that truly intends them no harm, a welcome part of creation and free to create what they want to see, create themselves, create their days.
They are not brilliant the way that some of their friends are brilliant: they work, they slog, they are able at age 13 to put in four hours on a project, they do their homework. That will serve them better, I think.
I barked at them last week for not setting aside enough time to study for the Social Studies test, I growled when they told me that was why they did not know all the answers. I felt like the stupid one when told one girl scored 54 out of 50 with the extra credit, the other 53 out of 50. “I missed four but got seven of the extra credit,” she explained.
I felt stupid only until I heard her pride as she told me, without words but with the inflection in her voice, “See, Dada, I have got this under control.” It is not supposed to be easy, struggle in a safe environment is learning essential lessons.
Each with her own style, her own strength, the twins know they are different with their golden brown skin and deep black hair with highlights of henna when the sun watches them with an oblique glance, almost tomboys with their lack of understanding of girly girls, not quite getting that obsession with showing too much to boys (they are young, it may come soon).
We celebrate independence, talk about the loneliness of being on the outside, hint at the painful joy of self-direction. The day will come when I introduce them to the nobility of the outlaw, why the outlaw is always necessary, how the outlaw gives herds an option, a warning, a dynamic force that highlights the dangers of conformity.
But now there is the girls’ quiet knowing they are enveloped in grace: wrapped in the love of those close to them, part of a universe that truly intends them no harm, a welcome part of creation and free to create what they want to see, create themselves, create their days.
Second floor pour
The concrete truck is here, and the pump to move slurry to the second floor. The sun is not yet up at nearly 7 a.m., and it is 31 degrees, supposed to be 70 later today.
Ryan the concrete man asked for a couple of days to cut and finish, and the concrete has to give up its water, so we will not have insulation until maybe on Thursday, drywall next week. I will not be in before November.
The girls come back to the tipi/trailer on Friday for a few days, then back with my ex-wife until the 8th, then back to me for nearly 11 days.
On Saturday I leveled the trailer so fried eggs would not slide right to the edge of the pan. While it's always possible to turn the handle to the other side of the stove, the compensation is an unnecessary complication when you are in a hurry on school days.
The leveling gauge on the trailer did not show the frame to be that far out of plumb, but the true test was a fry pan with just a little water in the bottom. Sometimes the methods of measurement are also out of line, not just what is measured. It's hard to get a good calibration when you don't know where to begin.
Turmoil, most of it internal. I have temporarily lost my center. Time to reach for conscious contact.
Ryan the concrete man asked for a couple of days to cut and finish, and the concrete has to give up its water, so we will not have insulation until maybe on Thursday, drywall next week. I will not be in before November.
The girls come back to the tipi/trailer on Friday for a few days, then back with my ex-wife until the 8th, then back to me for nearly 11 days.
On Saturday I leveled the trailer so fried eggs would not slide right to the edge of the pan. While it's always possible to turn the handle to the other side of the stove, the compensation is an unnecessary complication when you are in a hurry on school days.
The leveling gauge on the trailer did not show the frame to be that far out of plumb, but the true test was a fry pan with just a little water in the bottom. Sometimes the methods of measurement are also out of line, not just what is measured. It's hard to get a good calibration when you don't know where to begin.
Turmoil, most of it internal. I have temporarily lost my center. Time to reach for conscious contact.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Stiff hands
It is 6:15 a.m. The sun has not made it to the horizon, but the eastern sky south of Smith Rock is that delicious creamcicle orange and vanilla, fading quickly through blue and violet to dark. I can still see stars but barely.
I didn’t think about it last night but of course I ran out of water this morning. I had not filled up because Rod the Plumber was setting up the house, replacing with some real plumbing the funky standpipe I had cobbled together. So at 5:45 I was out there in my slippers unhooking the sprinkler, attaching the hose to the new bib, and filling the trailer so the girls can wash their faces, cold stiffening my fingers.
The girls go back to their mom today and I miss’em though they ain’t out the door.
I don’t think I am going to Seattle this morning to race. It is too far, my racing buddy has bagged out, the weather is iffy on Saturday and I may be coming down with a cold, I didn’t sleep well from 2:30. It’s about six hours each way, a lot of fuel to burn in XSSUV, Auburn, Washington is not a town to enjoy by myself and Seattle proper is too far from the track.
I’ll hunker down here with a book instead, I think, and review the divorce papers. We may, finally, be seeing the end of this. I don’t quite know what I am going to do for a living. My wife will end up with our business, she is set for life, and that is all to the good. But I am going to be scrambling, for a while. Anybody need a writer?
The girls are packing. It’s time to make breakfast.
I didn’t think about it last night but of course I ran out of water this morning. I had not filled up because Rod the Plumber was setting up the house, replacing with some real plumbing the funky standpipe I had cobbled together. So at 5:45 I was out there in my slippers unhooking the sprinkler, attaching the hose to the new bib, and filling the trailer so the girls can wash their faces, cold stiffening my fingers.
The girls go back to their mom today and I miss’em though they ain’t out the door.
I don’t think I am going to Seattle this morning to race. It is too far, my racing buddy has bagged out, the weather is iffy on Saturday and I may be coming down with a cold, I didn’t sleep well from 2:30. It’s about six hours each way, a lot of fuel to burn in XSSUV, Auburn, Washington is not a town to enjoy by myself and Seattle proper is too far from the track.
I’ll hunker down here with a book instead, I think, and review the divorce papers. We may, finally, be seeing the end of this. I don’t quite know what I am going to do for a living. My wife will end up with our business, she is set for life, and that is all to the good. But I am going to be scrambling, for a while. Anybody need a writer?
The girls are packing. It’s time to make breakfast.
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