(Da*n, how appropriate, lost a newsgroup-person whose posts I enjoyed, yesterday. #3, again. And not the first far-too-young person I have known to go with Lymphoma. Julie, 20 or so, died in 1964 on what had been supposed to be her wedding day.)

Roni celebrated her birthday at the beach, instead of the triple-shifts she used to be saddled with at the restaurant. It's a joy to have a "real job," y'know?

Vince called, and he's adjusting well to the culture shock of a huge university. (That was something I had trouble with the five weeks I was at U of Illinois. Certainly a vast change from U of Wyoming!) He says it's getting really cold in Indiana and he thought he saw a funnel cloud some weeks ago, but they all say they've never seen a tornado there. I figure the New Madrid Quake will get him. He was astonished to learn he now weighs more than his father, who has lost 45 pounds since Vince saw him last. On that topic, the endocrinologist has made an appointment, so you never know, they might actually begin to think about maybe starting to initiate the beginnings of doing something in a month or so. (Do I sound bitter? Good.)

0715 this morning, a pounding at the door. Obviously we were up, the tv was busy on a copy-disk program, the dog was barking, the Hallowe'en bat-globe cackling away. I didn't want to be bothered, since I was still in nightshirt and only semi-awake. It turned out to be the tree people, ready to tear the maple in the back into splinters. There's a fence down twixt here and the neighbors, and there's a lot more sky in the back with that big limb gone. We gave them some pomegranates.

Sailor was in a "harass-the-cats" mood tonight and he cornered Fitch. He was grabbing a hind leg and gumming the cat, who was hunkered down. You could just see Fitch was updating his mental list, and as soon as he has grown into a tiger, that is one Very Dead Dog. Sailor thinks he's king of the hill now, but just you wait, you canine fiend.

They opened the fish ladder today, which is really really good because I'm planning to take Sam to the fish hatchery this weekend and I was telling the child about the fish ladder to prepare for the trip.

I'm sorry. With Rich ill, I have enough to think about without worrying about those two stalkers, one from each coast. I'm planning to reduce my stalker-baiting activities, but beyond that, I have but two words: Bite Me. Or maybe, Grow Up. I'm getting out of Dodge, people. Leave me alone.