The satellite has no interest in my altering my blog title photograph. Perhaps the photo of one day old Quinn is gone, perhaps a blank space greets you as you enter my blog. In any case, I blog. I change my photo another day, a day when I am not living in Chelan with the satellite that feels reluctance to interact with blogger.com. It has delicate feelings this satellite dish. I don't actually have a satellite in my yard. I do not live on a tiny world sprouting trees the size of the Little Prince.

My daughter's mother in law who left yesterday speaks French, is in fact a high school French teacher. They spoke, my daughter and she, in French. My fellow grandma, memere to my ama, also spoke to the baby in French. And sang.

I should look at the poems I have on paper and type them onto this computer. I am afraid to look at them. This morning I thought of sending out some poems, putting cart well in front of oxen or mini horse. I did the laundry and the dishes. I rode my bicycle along the road for 48 minutes. Nine miles. My husband installed a device that includes odometer (not motor), trip meter, maximum speed, time, and trip timer. My maximum speed this morning was 28 mph. Graciously, it does not record minimum speed, which was 5.9 mph, so now you know.