Yesterday was just a crazy mess. First, I had a freak bleach accident in the laundry and damaged a bunch of clothing. Then I managed to send out the wrong document to an entire mailing list. I ended the day by stumbling into a hearth brick and probably not breaking but certainly injuring a toe, which is now a hideous purple-black. On the bright side, I did not dent the car or lose a lot of money. Nor did I give anyone food poisoning. But good lord.

Surely today will be calmer. It won't be any cooler, though. Maine is in a serious heat wave, and there's no rain in sight. For last night's dinner I coached Paul through breading chicken breasts, and I did manage to make some fresh peach ice cream without destroying anything. Tonight we'll stuff grape leaves with rice, lemon, green onions, and a fistful of garden herbs. Maybe I'll make a big shrimp salad and some cheese wafers to go along with it.

Before I leave you for the day: Here's a passage from Toni Morrison's novel Love. I think it's worth mulling.

All around the world, traitors help progress. It's like being exposed to tuberculosis. After it fills the cemetery, it strengthens whatever survives, helps them know the difference between a strong mind and a healthy one; between the righteous and the right--which is, after all, progress. The problem for those left alive is what to do about revenge--how to escape the sweetness of its rot.