![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7700/903/320/HPIM0951.jpg)
In a completely rude gesture, the POTUS and his entourage
came to SLC on or about my birthday, necessitating a visit
to the protest. Mainly, I was protesting the fact that GWB
had wrecked my birthday.
![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7700/903/320/HPIM0953.jpg)
Running son ran the pre-region race, his first of the
season. Despite a strained calf muscle, he came in
third at 17:10, which is seventeen seconds faster
than his best time on that course last year. This picture
is only a generic one, as running son was already way
up the hill at this point (or so). He argues that he
could run the course in 16:45 without the calf strain, and
time will tell.
![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7700/903/320/HPIM0957.jpg)
Labor Day = the last time we can stay in the cabin
before my dad closes it down for the winter. Henry's
Fork of the Snake gleaming down below the path here.
![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7700/903/320/HPIM0966.jpg)
Duke the Dachshund refuses to give me a good look.
Damn him!
![](http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7700/903/320/HPIM0973.jpg)
The roof of the meadhall. Or, the ceiling of the log
cabin, which I find exceedingly beautiful.
As you have now all heard, Dr. Write and I are engaged
in a battle to the death. No, wait: we're exchanging poems!
I keep getting those two things mixed up! She's writing at
genius level, may I report. This is the poet equivalent of
National Novel Writing Month. Wish us luck.
No comments:
Post a Comment