I remember Watmough Bay right before sunset - the grass blazed orange and the wind began to lightly lap at the water. (I know, split infinitive, so sue me). Mostly it was quiet and still, and holy and warm. My heart seemed still, my breathing was still, my mind was still; yet the world kept flowing around me, magnified.

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My apartment is about 90 degrees inside. I have to get out the spray bottle and sit in front of the fan to get any relief. I took a side trip to the motorcycle parts store just so I could spend a little extra time in my blessedly air-conditioned Subaru. I am hoping that my mother thinks it's a bad idea to clean out her old basement tomorrow, though I will do it if that's what needs to be done.

Then it's off to the Bond Boys BBQ, brought to you by the letter B and the number 49.

I took a bunch of ibuprofen last night before bed, and danged if I didn't sleep easier. My back has been KILLING me, a chronic thing that was aggravated by the motorcycle riding. My landlord wants to buy my bike, and I just might sell it, and get a Triumph in the spring. This Shadow is an ergonomic joke being played on my low back over and over. It's a great entry-level bike for many, many reasons, but now the joke's over and I'm ready for style and comfort.

Oh, Layla, there will never be another first bike. You just keep that in your heart, my liebchen.

I think my aloe vera plant is dead, and I didn't think that could happen. Aren't they desert plants to begin with? What could I have done?