Monday morning

It was extremely foggy this morning taking markgritter to the airport. The Minnesota River in particular was fogged over, reminding us of when we lived upstream in St. Peter and would look down over the fogged river valley on our way to classes in the morning. Came home to put in a load of laundry and deal with the first person giving us an estimate on having the driveway and front step redone. The later flight is less disorienting than the earlier one, but I'm always aware of his absence even in the parts of the day when he'd usually be sleeping, and Ista is unsettled. But there's enough light and warmth that she and I can have long late afternoon/early evening walks, with no need to stop and calculate what the warmest part of the day will be and what route will offer the most shelter from wind. I love winter, but I suppose there's and advantage or two to spring.

Let's go over this one more time.

No, my mom and dad aren't home. Or rather, my mom may be home, but I don't know, because her home is ten minutes from here, and I don't make her get a permission slip from me before going to the post office. This is my home. I own it. I am the homeowner.

If you are trying to sell me something, assuming that I have no buying power is a bad idea. If you are trying to sell me something that will cost four to five figures, assuming that I have no buying power is a really bad idea.

Sigh.

I-IV-V

I know one more thing about Deportees than I used to: I know its chord structure. Specifically, I know which POV character is the tonic, which the sub-dominant, and which the dominant.

Yes, I realize that this is a space opera and not a twelve-bar blues. But trust me: this really does help.

(I thought it might be in the key of E, because that is, as we all know, the people's key. But no, it's E-flat. Which explains a lot; you can write space opera in sharps, but it's sort of awkward.)

(Perhaps I should have an icon for bits of self-recognized fruit-battitude.)