It has angst, romance, racial tension, a fast Chevy, family mysteries and dysfunction, and cross-country questing. If it's a novel, then I can say that I've spent good money and wasted many hours reading worse.

If it's a journal, then no comment I make here does justice to the description of the life revealed in Trotsky in Exile. Interrupting the other reading I had planned, I spent a good chunk of this week engrossed in reading through this journal. I started by reading a few of the recent entries on a friend's recommendation, but I rewound quickly to the beginning of the tale. The archived predecessor to this semi-anonymous journal ("superbrown") began last November 22. There's good writing throughout.

It's prom night and as usual we will host an after-prom party and sleepover for about six pairs of Josh's friends. And that means that the household will be in turmoil all day as folks are exhorted to jack up the house and yard into a presentable state. [Note the use of passive voice to restrain the pointing (index) finger.]

Bathrooms will be scrubbed, weeds whacked (and the dandelions are having a wonderful season in our yard, by the way), windows windexed, and laundry laundered, while elsewhere carpets will be shampooed, floors scrubbed, and places that no sane human would ever think to look will be cleaned before the celebrants arrive, so this entry must be brief.

It's time, methinks, to go lurk by the compost pile behind the garage if the boys haven't already staked a claim there.

An art link worth recording: Jim's Fine Art Collection