It is still raining. The dog walkers are huddled inside their boots and hoods, and the dogs are galloping over the wet grass. Bay and sky are identical, just a strip of island horizon between them.

Tomorrow morning, very early, I will catch a bus to Boston and from there fly to Chicago. So today will be laundry day, and "ugh, why are my clothes so awful?" day, and "can I bring this on the plane?" day, etcetera, etcetera. But I'm also going to venture out into the rain to buy the ingredients for Portuguese seafood stew: clams, mussels, linguica, potatoes. This stew is one of the most delicious foods in the world, and I love to make it, even in the doll-house kitchen.

With that hurricane barreling toward the coast, I am beginning to wonder about my return flight. Perhaps I'll be stranded in Chicago with my son. There could be worse things.

Well, I know I won't be writing to you first thing tomorrow, but I expect to send you plenty of updates from the places I'll be visiting--for instance, the waiting area at Logan, where I'll be idling for a few hours. As far as I know, the only entertainment plan my son and his girlfriend have made is to go to the circus on Saturday. Given that the tickets cost a mere $5 each, I am wondering if it will be a flea circus. You can be sure I'll let you know.