Ah, the Garden State!
Last night DH woke me from a blissfully unaware slumber to inform me that it smelled like "God's toejams" outside and that the very whiffy odor was at its extreme whiffiest not in the Meadowlands, but around the Hoffman-La Roche plant. Me: Mmzzzhuh? Today there's not a trace of the bad smell and not a clue to its identity. Harmless, we hope.
Soleil is making progress, a consolation for strange midnight alarums and even for the scandals that continue to plague professional cycling. I love her pretty waist shaping – thanks, Brigitte, for the advice on length (be sure to have a look at her magnificent Jade Starmore Amphora).
I plan to finish the TdF KAL, but I've become fed up with the TdF – too many integrity issues in too many places for my taste.
Meanwhile, an inflammatory "rummer" was posted to the MS3 group and all hell broke loose.¹ No doubt because of my long familiarity with such things, I initially read the variant spelling of rumor as the comparative form of rum. Which may not apply to any one person individually, but one Internet conflagration later it is demonstrably true of the aggregate. Adquirit eundo [she gains strength as she goes].²
P.S. Please send healing thoughts to Lynn at NeedleCraftique (Exit 151). She shattered her upper arm in a freak fall in the parking lot. Surgery, a titanium rod, pins, staples, and six months of physical therapy are involved.
¹Milton, Paradise Lost, Book IV, Line 918, said by the Archangel Gabriel to fallen angel Lucifer.
²Vergil, Aeneid, Book IV, Line 175, attribute of the formidable monster Rumor.