"Are you sure it was an ostrich?" asked the old policeman.

I don't know what to write and I think that should be at least three chapters in my book, when I write it, if I write it.

A moment ago, as I stared off into space trying to think of what comes next in this little self-evident confession of ignorance, I looked long and hard at the pictures on the wall in front of me. For some very evident reasons the three pictures directly in front of me are ones that I painted as a way to waste the leftover paint on the palette. I painted them as fast as I could with the very last of the paint. They were never meant to be more than a replacement for paper towels and a way to pretend to make "painterly" strokes with the paintbrush, but as I looked at them I realized I liked the way they looked. There is something about them, as stupid and amateurish as they look, that draws my eye to them.

They both show an energy that isn't in the paintings that I grind and squeeze out like I'm giving birthday to a mutant calf. They are simple and painless and without explanation. The two that I like the most were painted outside on the back deck in my, so far, single experiment in plein air painting as a thunderstorm rapidly approached. Maybe there's something to that method.

There's an email in the morning post from Boyer saying that he and Whitaker plan to be out here for the first week of August. I'm hoping Strohm has more extroverted plans and tendencies than myself for their visit. I'm probably not the person to pick as ambassador at large for entertainment by anybody's Chamber of Commerce. If it were left to me, I would favor setting up an elaborate ruse involving a stolen corpse, an axe, some roofies, and a couple hired street people to convince Greg and Mark that they'd accidentally killed someone after a fun day of barbecue and then hustling them back onto an airplane never to speak of it again. With a little help we might be able to take what little money they've saved up as well, but I wouldn't want to queer the plan with greed. Or they could just visit quietly and we could go to a couple movies. But for 7 days... that'll be a tough one. Strohm is more human compliant then myself and will have some ideas.

Sue's brother Bob just called and said that her brother Vincent had a stroke this morning and is in the ER. He had no other news at this time. Sue's at work and I'm not sure whether she got the information yet. I'll have to wait and see. Actually, we'll all have to wait and see. Hopefully, they caught it in time and it's a small ischemic stroke and they get the clot-busters rolling in time to reverse any deficits.

That's enough for now.

More later,


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