Travel

The Travel Schedule is looking up. New York in August, followed by, at some point over the following six months or so, Sicily by car, somewhere for Christmas (maybe here?), then La Culebra and Vieques by boat with Captain Crow and First Mate Finch early next year. Trips to Stiletto, of course. Plot and Duck haven't been anywhere major since Spain last November, so the clock has been running.

Spent part of the afternoon talking with Carlo, our soon-to-be ex-next-door neighbor, as he and family prepare to move to Berlin for a year, then back to settle in Arizona. Good byes are good for absolutely nothing except sad songs.

We will miss them and we will miss their kids -- it's really nice to get hugged by children on the street. But the parents are scientists, and scientists have to go where the jobs are, where the opportunities are, and these days that says Europe.

Come to think of it, a trip to Berlin would not be a bad idea.

The baseball fan in The Great Plotnik is convinced the Plotzers are toast, done, finished, washed up, kaput. They will not win another game, at least until they do. Could be tonight, or next year.