Back from beach, Doran.  Too chilly and windy for the littles,

Henry clinging to me as I put him in the back part of the Rav as we always do for picnics.  None of the three pleased so we just ate in the car and relaxed, talked.  Everyone content, especially them.

On the way back Jack and I talked about music, while Emma tried her best to keep calm little Henry who I thought for sure would pass out when home but no.  Now all of us just seek refuge from heat, me doing a little work and Jack playing his game.

Me in office, thinking about work next week and the next project.. producing revenue substantial.  More and more my pages take on the lauded form I’d endorse to student of “inward jots”.  I know what I can do, I know what I deserve, and I KNOW what I’ll encounter.

Everything already written, now just to paginate it.

95 now.  No way we’re going outside and can’t afford to be driving all over Sonoma County.  Day inside, we don’t do it often.  All the material, them, the kids, the EVERYTHING, on a beaming plate for this writer.