We should have been out of here a couple of hours ago, but, well, it should come as no surprise that we're running just a little behind. We hope to leave by noon. With luck, we'll drive as far as Harrisburg, Pennsylvania before calling it a day (or night, or whatever). Things were going quite well yesterday evening, a little ahead of schedule, actually, even though we had to have new front tires put on the car, but then the housesitter showed up and needed to be shown which faucets drip and what doors should never be opened and the care and feeding of CMP the ham. Then Byron and "Hannah" showed up and managed to drag us off to The Vortex at L5P where there was beer and cider and pink lemonade, and we didn't make it home again until almost 10 p.m., at which point we realised we'd gone from being ahead to being behind. By midnight, I had indeed collapsed on the sofa. I watched the second half of A Foreign Affair (1948) with Jean Arthur, Marlene Dietrich, and John Lund. Dietrich is so marvelous in this film. I was tempted to stay up for Jack Benny in To Be or Not to Be (1942), but saner, sleepier heads prevailed.
Spooky's packing up the signature sheets for Alabaster, which she then has to schlep over to the p.o.. They're going to Ted in San Francisco, because he also gets to sign them. He's so responsible for the final form this book has taken, I insisted.
I don't know if I'll have web access on the road, so this may be my last entry until sometime on Wednesday or Thursday.
And I should probably wrap this up. It's going to be a long, long day.