Coffee on the back porch

High summer, suddenly, and the days are long and full. This morning we moved our breakfast coffee to the back screen porch instead of the front three-season porch. We feel a little on display out here, with the screen porch elevated like a stage, but we can also better smell our neighbors' peonies, and listen to those noisy birds (and the roar of the garbage trucks).

I've been using spare time--Sunday afternoons, mornings--to work on my book, and I'm happy to report that Chapter 11 is in good shape, a draft solidly done, and I am taking Friday off work to plunge into Chapter 12, which I believe will be the final chapter.

I think I will make that August first deadline after all, though I clearly did not make the secret unreasonable deadline I had set for myself, which was February.

Boscoe had another all-day glucose-curve test this week, and the results show he's doing well on the insulin. He looks old and shaky some days and perky and youthful others; that's what getting old is like, I guess. Not a steady arc, but up and down. Last night he was racing around the yard, playing with Riley. I stood and watched and watched.

On Sunday I have to go to a party at the home of a tall local writer who has a radio show. No names, please; I'd like to keep this out of Google. And do not be impressed, not even the least little bit; I do not know the man and not once has he returned a phone call for an interview, even when another tall local writer died and I was just looking for a quote. The party is to celebrate the publication of a book, which is why I've been invited.

If you are all very nice and good I will write about the party here later. The writer, who claims shyness, yesterday posted a bunch of pictures of his house (inside and out) on his facebook page, so I don't think I will be violating much privacy if I tell you a little about the party. Assuming I go. With me and parties, it's always touch and go.