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I have the blank page terror. More like a bother. Several things bubbling that might do better to blister another ream of paper than this virtual one. Something mundane like dinner with friends, a reader might care less, unless I find a way to explain the mixed pickle side with my Indian meal and the odd nirvana I experienced from those mystery vegetables fermented in what our friends suggested was lacquer. So far this morning, there are no dire consequences.

Or something a bit more profound, even though a bit of an old saw: a short observation on mortality, when it is no longer a question of when and the compassion that moment engenders from others. Except I am not looking for condolences when I mention at this same dinner that I am no longer a grandparent in-waiting, cut short by a mysteriously stilled heart. Those of us with some age and/or with grown children know the comfort of being able to grieve while escaping having to mourn. Please do not respond, because I already know and appreciate it.

Today will largely be dedicated to readying ourselves to be away for several days in the L.A. area. Something involving a turkey… There is talk of an evening at a poker room. I will have my camera and DW will have her laptop, yet there will most likely be a bit of radio silence until a week from now. Be well.