Caitlin came home from camp today. There's always the paradoxical way that an extended period of time like this seems to work - she was gone for what felt like both an entire year and the blink of an eye. Conservatively, there are about 157 loads of laundry to do as a result of getting her unpacked. Everything reeks of mold and damp, and her pillows had to be discarded because they were so disgustingly moldy. She's come home with an amazing portfolio of photographs she took at camp and a vegetarian mindset. We'll see how this will mesh with the other three of us who remain meat eaters.

Rebecca and I went clothes and shoe shopping today, after her shoes suffered a similar camp-fate, ahving been destroyed by a week of mud and wet. Kohl's kept a large chunk of money in exchange for sneakers, jeans and capris.

Caitlin has lined up a friend to go with her to the Philadelphia Folk Festival tomorrow evening to see Ani Difranco, so I won't have to go and whine about how much I hate being out in crowds and really don't like Ani's music.

Music: Soul Journey (I know I'm going to wear this one out by playing it too much), Breakfast in New Orleans, Dinner in Timbuktu by Bruce Cockburn, So Damn Happy.

Movies: Read My Lips, third of the three French movies for the weekend. I fell asleep for what must have been the critical ten minutes in the middle of this movie that would have made me smack my forehead and proclaim knowledge of what would have made this mess of a story make any sense. Meandering (not in the good way a stream can wander through the tall grasses in the back forty, but in the way a wino propels himself from one damp brick wall to another in an alley lit by distant street lights) plot, unremarkable performances, garish character evolution, a cinematographer whose felt compelled to throw in gratuitous close ups every few seconds, and an incomprehensible sub-plot. One tiny detail that was interesting - there was a coffee grinder in the background of one shot that was identical to the one downstairs on my mantel, which my grandmother gave me when I first moved into an apartment of my own. No points, however, for that.

Cats: Tabitha will not each Boca burgers. Caitlin is convinced she has feline anorexia.