I apologize for the four-day break. It’s partly due to the new heat of summer. Although not scheduled in the rest of the world to begin until June twenty-first, summer officially started in Arizona at the dawn of the Cenozoic era. The heat is squashing me flat.
Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be affecting the bots, the dog, or the antique cat (above), who apparently is projecting such a spunky aura that he was recently depicted by a local artist as a surfer dude. (Mbot named the painting himself; several days earlier, he pointed out, while reading The Stomach Book for the five hundredth time, that the villi were surfing the perfect spit-up. (In fact, I believe they were riding on a river of diarrhea. Tomato, tomahto.)
But I am not surfing the perfect anything. The mercury has risen to just beneath my nose. I’ll get used to it. We’ll get into our summer routine: out early, wading pool, sprinkler, swimming. But really. Deserts are for adding an “s” to and eating.