It's foggy this morning, and two cute exasperating brown bunnies are skipping and hopping around and under my neighbor's car. These bunnies are an invasive species that has suddenly exploded in Portland, and I am not delighted. I admit they are adorable. But so were the tribbles in that Star Trek episode.

However, I am delighted that I slept in till 6 a.m. on this Saturday morning. For some reason Chuck didn't work very hard to wake me, and my body, still convalescing from its long stretch of car-related insomnia, took advantage of his neglect.

For me, waking up at 6 is the equivalent of wallowing, so I feel quite smug this morning. Look at me, sleeping in on a Saturday: I'm like a regular guy.

This weekend I need to weed the front garden beds and mow grass. I'd also like to go for a bike ride as I've been out only once so far this summer. Meanwhile, Gloria can relax in the driveway and enjoy the bunnies. She'll get plenty of attention next week.

Now the gulls are screeching, and sun is grappling with the remains of the fog, and I'm remembering that there's most of a strawberry pie in the refrigerator, and I'm thinking about all of the work ahead in the next couple of weeks and getting excited about it. Rehearsing, teaching, playing, writing, performing, listening, celebrating, plus hanging out by the lake with some of my favorite people . . . wot larks, as sweet Joe muses to Pip in Great Expectations, a book I should reread soon. Maybe I'll bring it along to Monson.