hello, hello, hello -- is there anybody in there?

it's squinting weather over here -- sunny and cold. jude and henry both sneeze at the sun. photic sneeze reflex. i do it too. we're all sneezing and the february sun shines. according to the limited reading i've done this morning on the subject my sons and i will never be allowed to be combat pilots because of this sneezing reflex. i hope that this genetic abnormality of mine that i've passed on to these boys will not be something they will hold against me after watching john wayne soaring the skies in flying tigers. i have no fighter pilot ambitions, but will these rosy cheeked golden boys feel otherwise?

a new season of survivor began last night. we taped it and watched when the boys were sleeping. we watched as we ate cashew chicken and hot and sour soup from the overseas chinese buffet, where the tiny girl who always waits on us told ernie that for the last five years she's eaten general tso's chicken on a daily basis. how does she weigh 85 pounds (including striped t-shirts, ill-fitting blue jeans and glorious shining ponytail of blue-black hair) on such a diet? maybe she only eats one piece of the general, and not the entire aluminum platter full of it, along with the box of sticky rice and the dark red saucy juice that the chicken sits in, steaming and salty. she must avoid the eggroll that comes with the dinner and i'm quite certain that she does not eat the sugared donuts that come in waxed paper.

survior looks promising this season. they rid themselves of the singing lunatic who was wearing the sort of slip mothers wear during sunday afternoon naps -- white and old-fashioned -- along with large black underwear that was visible through the slip after she swam to the get-away boat.



and here we are at another weekend. my students have a group lesson here tomorrow, which means that they all have next week's lesson tomorrow during the same hour, meaning there will be no students at all next week, meaning i'm feeling a sort of elation that i should not put into words.

the mailman is walking across our yard with his hoodie cinched around his mustachioed face. jude is chewing a block and humming to himself. henry sleeps. the sun still shines.