Yesterday as I was out walking, I thought how nice it was that there hadn’t been any fires and that the sky was clear and blue and beautiful without the heavy scent of smoke or the orange shadows of summertime wildfires hanging over it all. This morning I got up and went downstairs and took a breath and tasted wood smoke on the air. I think I jinxed us! Back to work now.
stupid web browsers
Apparently there’s some kind of problem with this new layout and some versions of IE browsers. I can’t see it myself, but the nav bar is evidently overlaying the text area. It has something to do with the CSS margin settings I’m using, I’m pretty sure, but I have no idea how to both fix it and maintain the look of the site, which I like, dammit. So I don’t know what I’m going to do about it right now, but if you’re having trouble reading my site, try the…
bother, said pooh.
I think I’m going to have to start weight lifting to really take more weight off. I could, in theory, weight lift on the 4 days a week when I don’t swim. I have the equipment in my garage. And I _like_ weight lifting. And I work at home. It’s not like I can’t find the time. Actually *doing it*, however… I don’t know why I have a problem with actually doing it. (Because it’s *work*, she whined. Because it’s *hot* in the garage. Because because because because because.) It’s…
“It was an Irish bookstore.”
My grandfather was born in Pomeroy, a village of about 300 in County Tyrone. He stood to inherit his family’s farm, but didn’t want to be a farmer, and so emigrated to the United States in his early twenties–around 1928, I believe. There he married, had children, and moved about, eventually settling in Alaska, but by the forties or fifties, he’d lost contact with the family in Ireland. In the early 1970’s, after his wife died, the Old Man, as we called him, went back East to visit New York…
whew.
Wow. That was more of a workout than I expected. 2K yards swimming, and I’d figured like 6 or 7 miles biking to get there and back, except I went tot he post office while I was out, so I ended up with a 10.5 mile bike ride as well as the swimming. And I still haven’t walked the dog. (Who knows it, and who is pacing back and forth Waiting For Me. “I’m POOPED” doesn’t qualify as an excuse, in her book. Even, “Later,” gets me mournful looks.) I…