It's been a lovely evening.

It's sad when 77 degrees F (25 C for those of you north of the border and overseas) is cool enough to open all the windows in the house, but that's what I did about an hour ago. Max and I sat out on the deck with a beer (for me) and some chow (for him) and the latest Urban Outfitters catalog (for both of us) and mourned the resurgence of the 1980's. Max expressed his opinion of the fashions available either by curiously licking the pictures--the suede offset heels got his approval--or by sneezing.

Someone nearby was frying onions. Someone else on the other side of the house was baking bread. As the wind shifted and the clouds changed, I got onions....bread.....onions......bread. The cats busily knocked things off of the kitchen windowsill and counter, and it was breezy enough that the mosquitoes didn't bite.

It was a good evening. Now the sun's gone down, and thunderstorms are rolling through, and I'm going to go shut the windows and read The Phantom Tollbooth for the nine-hundredth time. And maybe eat some of the Moo-Lennium Crunch Rachel left behind this past weekend.