Martha secured the new novel about Edith Wharton, The Age of Desire, for me, and I am more than halfway through it. (Essentially pedestrian, and not recommended for any but Whartonphiles.)
The Olympics continue to be excellent evening amusement. How will we go back to the dullness of regular television next week, without the thrills and chills and Bob Costa (is that is name?) Our inner sports critics only now fully kicking in? I am a four-year-fair-weather-sports fan, for sure.
More tears today, but no music. Although the weather is supposed to get wetter, I hope to be feeling more like moving around. I do need to go to the Brooklyn Public Library, pay some fines, and renew my card. Well, the car needs to be moved anyway as it is in a Friday spot.
I did get a terrific photo of Tupelo who joined me on the couch for a bit.
Now, that's a cat. Emmy will never sit still long enough for a proper "portrait" kind of picture, never has. It is coming up on the anniversary of losing Miep and soon thereafter getting Emmylou Irene Patsy Clownpaws, (although at the moment, it scarcely feels as if she is mine). Lots of loss lately. And I am extremely grateful for what I do have as clearly it could easily all be gone.
John and Melinda are quite fond of her and she is adjusting to life with Tupelo. She is always glad to see me, though, visiting me for facepets during the night, and sleeping by my side on the coffee table next to the couch here.