High Summer is here. Seafair is underway and the Blue Angels are ripping across the sky, practicing their routines for the show Sunday. (I hate them with a passion: big waste of fuel, and glorifies war). Dean and I finally got the decks re-sealed. In time to have some old friends over for dinner last night. We had a caprese appetizer and a cocktail on the front deck, then we grilled halibut and veggies and sat out on the back deck, then as it was beginning to get dark out we came inside to the dining room for a lovely nectarine pan dowdy (sp?) that J made. I joked that it was a movable feast: we had eaten at three different tables.

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Still trying to find time to work on the novel. I might just have to go away again.

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I think I got a new poem the other day, about cleaning a patient's glasses. We'll see if it pans out.

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I have a poem, "Quad," in the inaugural issue of Hospital Drive, out of the University of Virginia. Poet Arthur Ginsberg and essayist Emily Transue (both of Seattle) are featured as well.

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