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Hot. And when the temperature finally dropped enough tonight to read in the gazebo, humid. Not that anyone in the house (which at the moment includes my son's ex-wife and most of her kids) wants me to read. Everyone from my wife on down thinks when I've got my nose in a Kindle that's the perfect time to begin a conversation. And when they finally decide to talk amongst themselves, Norton thinks it's his turn to demand attention. But I love being in a house full of people. If I had the money I'd buy a mountain where we all could live (but with a hidden reading room whose location was known only to me). Some place in Oregon, perhaps, where it doesn't get too hot. Like today, which was miserably so. And of all days to do so I forgot and left my Kindle in the hot car for a couple of hours between taking my ex-DIL to work and my wife taking the car to her second round on her job. The thermometer in our gazebo read 89°F in the shade! Poor, hot, miserable Kindle. Sorry, baby, I promise it won't happen again.
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