Grok grok. Ya mean Duck Duck Frog, dontcha? Grok grok.

It is the Saturday of Labor Day weekend and I am home here on The Planet Ann Arbor. Marking time. Not that I don’t have anything to do. I have spent most of the day trying to get the code for my internship website to play nicely with Internet Explorer. Fun. Pick, pick, pick. Haslayout issues? Double margin float bug (or whatever it’s called, too lazy to Google). Maybe. No great progress. Looks great in Firefox and Safari. Oh yeah! The box model. How could I forget about the blasted box model? Back to the drawing board. Again. And then there was a little issue with a bourbon bottle. Because after all that business with the blasted box model, I needed a little break. I bought it in the Sault Ste. Siberia Glen’s. The bourbon, that is. Ten High, Grandroobly’s everyday favorite. The SSS Glen’s puts these fancy plastic security caps on all their booze and the only way to get them off is for the cashier to use a special tool to squeeze them off. Well, I took my groceries through the uscan, like I always do if it’s open. I called the cashier to come over and clear my alcohol purchase and she did but she forgot to take the stupid cap off and I forgot to ask her to. So I got all the way out to the cabin with it. The Commander was fit to be tied! “Oh, that happened to me at Rite Aid once and it ruined my bedroom floor!” I didn’t have a chance to get back to Glen’s to ask them to take the blasted cap off (actually I had a stress dream about that so maybe I was just avoiding it), so I brought (took?) the whole blasted bottle with me to the Planet and it occupied probably ten minutes of the GG’s time this afternoon. But it is off, I’ll have you know. And there was a boring little drain snaking episode and, oh yeah, the accident. I heard sirens this afternoon and, even though it sounded like they stopped right out on N. Maple, I ignored them. There are always sirens around here. Until a whole bunch of vee-hickles came whaling down my little street. Swish. Vroom. Now *that* is unusual but I’ve seen it before and it almost always means there’s an accident on N. Maple. The GG was on it. He bailed out the front door and returned with the news that a motorcyclist had rear-ended a minivan. Fortunately, no one was seriously injured. It’ll be a busy week. Business meetings, classes, homework, coffee with friends. I will go through the motions. No one will know how distracted I am. Because I am excited about everything I have to do this fall and a part of my brain will be focused on it. But I won’t be able to fully concentrate until after next weekend. Because that is when I drop my baby off at O’Hare airport for her flight to Sénégal, where she will live for the next six months. “Baby” meaning only that she is my youngest child, nothing more. Because 20-year-olds are anything but babies. It is the opportunity of a lifetime for her and I am very happy that she is going. But it is times like this when you remember how your kids were when they *were* babies. Oh, okay. Enough, already. Grok grok. Ya still have meeeeeeeee! Grok grok

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