Since we were in a comparatively big town, we could go to church. St. Patrick's has an 8 o'clock Mass, so after breakfast we headed over there. It's a nice church, with a much less scary Jesus. The altar was decorated by kid-colored banners. The singer was a capella (after mass someone commented to Rich that they'd noticed he got lost trying to follow one hymn which had no relationship to the printed music: "we keep advertising for a pianist.") The water at the Baptismal font was trickling, and the first reader read "preserve in the faith" rather than "persevere" but I enjoyed it immensely. Even more so as I got a present! After a blessing of the mothers, we were invited up to receive a "Mother" pin. What a thrill. At the end of church we introduced ourselves. This is a very friendly church.

Then it was pedal to the metal till we got home. Overall gas mileage was over 31 mpg, this includes some 35+ days in the desert. California was in the 28 mpg range. Part of that is the traffic jam, and part of it is that the California gasoline is swill.

The cats were glad to see us, though Abby hid out for awhile. The bathroom was a disaster... our cat-sitter couldn't handle the litter box cleaning, so after a few days she let it go. The cats apparently decided to urinate in the tub, which made it easy to clean, and they stayed in the bathroom for their bathroom duties, so while it was disgusting, it was in a limited area. My chair was covered with Fitch-fuzz.

I got a call from my eldest son, who was surprised to hear my voice and distracted by Survivor. (on which topic, grump! Robnamber were my least favorite people! I wanted Rupert to win, though I can't seem to vote on cbs.com.) Got to talk to my oldest granddaughter. Monica sent a card which I can't open because this machine won't download shockwave. She also sent a geocaching gift certificate. And in the mail, a picture of Eric. His coloring is his dad's, but he looks like his mother. What a cutie!

My mail was manageable. I finally got an ad from Ofoto. What's that, three weeks? Four? (It was twenty-two days.)

Mark Steyn, The Cost of Losing.

Crushkerry.com.