Something to remember her by...

"Pardon my dust." Dorothy Parker's epitaph

Every morning for the past six months on the weekdays, Corb and I have had a fairly stable morning tradition: we get up at seven thirty (ish), drive to the local park in Eldredge, and walk three or four laps around the center of the park. It's a nice way to get the blood pumping and take in some fresh air before we start work for the day.

Our other daily ritual takes place at one o'clock, by the way. Every day I take lunch at this time and we order tuna sandwiches from the local deli and watch an episode of the Golden Girls. We are now on season seven. Look, if you are going to be stuck working in your house all day long for over a year, you have to find some way to stay sane. Dorothy, Blanche, Rose, Sophia and tuna are our escape valves.

Eldredge is a really small city in Massachusetts, but it's still that: a city, so we have seen our share if weird stuff some mornings. One day a few weeks ago, Corb noticed an old man in the park with a large back of peanuts and thought he was a harmless old coot looking to feed the squirrels. When he said something benign to the guy, the man motioned over to the back of his car and showed Corb a large pile of calendars with naked women. "Want to see my girlies?" he leered. Boy, was that dog barking up the wrong tree. Corb couldn't get away fast enough.

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