It has been an insane week. It was only last Sunday-- seven days ago-- that the New York Times released information about Trump's taxes. Since then, we've lived through Tuesday's debate and the wildfire spread of coronavirus through the inner circle of the White House, along with other stories that would have crippled any other administration but that now pass by with hardly a ripple.
Weirdly, for me, personally, it has been a really cool week. After eight months utterly isolated here with Buddy and my daughter, I have ventured out just a tiny bit and have met new, wonderful people, in quite unexpected ways. And my long-missing boys, kept away from caution over coronavirus, have stopped by for socially-distanced chats, or have, after negative Covid tests, moved home.
On the way from Los Angeles, one of them stopped by my office to pick up some stuff I needed and brought it to me, along with eight months of mail from work, full of simply lovely packages and letters from many of you. I will be responding in person to each of you, but since some of you have gone months and months with no acknowledgement of your gifts, I wanted to let you know they have, at long last, arrived. And the timing was perfect: they brightened up the weekend of a Very Tired Writer.
So here's to family and friends-- old and new-- and to helping each other make it through this very trying days.
Going to bed early tonight. I'll see you tomorrow.
[Photo of this week's rising full harvest moon in front of lawn chairs by my friend, photographer Peter Ralston.]