It's another dense and sticky morning: fans running, windows open to catch the last of the night's air. I'm glad it's Saturday, and I can sit quietly here in my nightgown, not cleaning up after breakfasts, not rushing a load of laundry into the machine.

Paul spent all of yesterday afternoon making tiramisu. I mowed grass and watered the garden and harvested the bolting spinach. Tom came home early and we cooked our first meal in the new fire pit: steaks and skewered vegetables. Now and again the three of us would wincingly check on Trump news from the homeland. The pathos of the photographs is considerable and painful.

Today we're forecast to get thunderstorms and hail. I think I'll cut a few bouquets of peonies so they won't all be smashed in by weather. Yesterday I submitted my residency application recommendations and made progress on the academic journal I'm editing. It's a relief to finally feel like I'm getting caught up on my desk work.

And Trump is out of Maine. And nobody got hurt, despite the guys patrolling downtown Guilford with AR-15s.