We joined a pool for the summer (ouch, money) and Miss Dash is working at getting onto the swim team. It's a coin toss if she'll be strong enough to make the main team. Much of our summer social season is based on what happens with that.
I find that going to the pool gives me anxiety, and a surprising amount of it at that. I don't know what's up. I should relax as time goes by. I've had a poor relationship with swimming for quite a while now. I'm game sometimes, but very not game at others. I'll need to sort this all out, or at least let some parts fade.
I cooked some flatiron steaks on the grill. They came out nicely rare and tender. I am rather pleased with that. I had thought that I had fudged it. The grill, however, continues its slow downhill slide. The sparker gave out. Given that we use the grill a few times a year, it's just not been high on my priority list to replace. Maybe in the autumn when grills go on sale.
I'm drilling through "All the Saints Are Dead." I'm finally past the tortuous rearranging, but my missing beat sheet is getting longer. I'm still not comfortable with how the middle plays out. Bits are now seeming too pat. Pat never works with Endhaven stories. They works best as messy, jagged affairs.
