Sketch and I survived the 4th. He headed under the bed in the evening and was still hiding under there when I went to bed. But early in the morning he was back on the sofa, cuddled against a pillow, just like normal.
Total normality doesn't return until Monday when everyone is back to work and I can reengage the summer program. But there is plenty of grunt work to do in the meantime.
Am reading a book called Chicago 1968, which may be he best thing on the sixties I've ever read. More later.
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Would that be the book by David Farber, "Chicago '68"? Well, now, you're talking about memory lane. That was the year my older brother was shot down over Hanoi. It was also the year I fell in love with my sister, who became a passionate antiwar protestor. Blue-eyed and blond, she possessed a steely, even Nordic, determination the likes of which I have not encountered in another human being. I miss that time, and I continue to write about her.
That's the one! I think he nails it.
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