Teresa sent me a link to this NY Times article about whales, which she thought the rest of you Moby-Dick readers might be interested in. My favorite part describes a killer-whale fad in Puget Sound.

I sort of managed to sleep last night so I am feeling as if it might actually be possible to concentrate on something today. I dimly remember waving my arms around yesterday in a 10th-grade English class, although James hasn't relayed gossip about any egregious faux-pas. Possibly he's just being diplomatic.

After a scintillating trip to the grocery store, I spent the latter part of the afternoon sitting in drizzle at an elementary-school soccer game, which was more rewarding than it sounds because Paul scored two goals and also perfected his Agony of Defeat routine, which he has implemented as a melodramatic accompaniment to near-goals, out-of-bounds calls, etc. I was a little embarrassed, but other parents found his show amusing--perhaps because they've never asked him to clean a chicken house or redo his math homework.

Today it continues to rain and rain and rain here in Harmony, Maine, a situation that will have implications for soccer practice and minestrone making. Possibly it might even influence the baking of layer cakes. You never can tell. As Wordsworth says, "I began/My story early--not misled, I trust,/By an infirmity of love for days/Disowned by memory." This also goes for days that have barely started.