Not Enough Ice Cubes

It got hot and sparkly, just in time for Independence Day. We celebrated with Sam and Max and David M, grilling things on the grill and eating them sprinkled with chaat masala, and drinking beverages poured over ice cubes, of which I always neglect to make enough, and also kept giving to the dog and the cat to crunch and lick, respectively, the result being: not enough ice cubes.

The three of us skipped the fireworks, though we could hear plenty. Gus was blase, while Theo slunk up and down the stairs with his ears back, seeking safety from the horrible noises. He was pretty much inconsolable.

Speaking of which, how unusual is it for a grown person to wish she were a house pet so she'd have an excuse to lie on the floor all day long, especially on hot days?

Mark and I explored a little bit last weekend, in Port Clyde and Mt Blue State Park (Saturday and Sunday, respectively). Gus is a willing, cheerful companion in the car and on trails, in parks, on docks. Still, it made me miss little Mister Minnow with a pang. I still think about him all the time.

The nest is empty this week--Isaac has bused south to New York for more film set interning. The nest feels big lately, the yard sprawling and wild, everything damp and sticky, or alternately foggy and damp, even inside the house.

I talked to the girl on the phone this morning, seven thousand miles away, nine and half hours in the future, and her voice was laughing and bright as she walked home from the tailor with her block printed Rajasthani suit. My favorite was when she said, "Wait--this isn't my street. This street is full of pigs!"