I grow old . . . I grow old . . .I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.–T.S.Eliot
Sophia’s age-mate Rita died yesterday. Great sadness.

photography from the Chesapeake Bay watershed by Bill Emory
Sophie used to retrieve on land. She can’t do that anymore. She goes at it too hard. Adapted that to plain running. Me on a bike, Sophie running alongside. That is out now, she goes lame, the impact aggravates her arthritis. The only place she is free now is in the water.
And when the dew fell upon the camp in the night, the manna fell upon it.
deliberate misspelling, iconoclastic grammer, tastes good as a cigarette should… Boyz, lite. The author knew how to spell dog, yet he chose to spell dog DAWG. 300 words. Why?
question for wordpress users: can you tell me how to change the way sidebar displays? It comes over on top of photos, I’d like the photos to dominate… Is there a way to make the sidebar narrower?
it was the basset’s first night in a new house. So many things to smell. Forget sleep