Today I am 59, and I don't feel a day over...58. Just kidding, I actually feel pretty darned good most of the time and I'm amazed at the lofty number of the years I've been around. I'll get a haircut on my way to work, work all day, Mom's stopping at the shop so I get to see her (I lured her there with the promise of fresh tomatoes from the garden and some okra we got at the market), have a celebratory root beer at the farmer's market with our son, then Durwood's taking me out for supper. Should be an excellent day.
August 31--Angra dos Reis, Brazil. She never thought that she would own an island. Granted it wasn't as big as a suburban lot, less than two acres, but Isla dos Anguillas was all hers--dock, shack, and, she looked down into the clear shallow water off the dock, sunken boat. "You can raise she boat and she'll be good as new once you plug the hole," Manuel said, grunting as he carried her bags up the dock toward her new house. Looking at the house in the bright daylight made she shudder. Luisa thought it looked like it was held together by spiderwebs and snake skins. She tightened her grip on her purse, and her nerve, and pushed open the door. "What are you looking for, Senhorita?" said a brown-skinned woman standing in a shaft of sunlight.
I was too sleepy to go on but that woman surprised me too.