Wednesday, August 12, 2026    

     Now there is an American Pope from Chicago, who plays Wordle every morning at the Vatican. I keep composing this letter in my mind. Do I call him just Leo or maybe Mr. Leo, and what do I want to really say. Mostly about my childhood family and the 1940’s Irish missionary priests who we thought were wise. This is a work in progress.

     I sleep well last night finally.  Something has settled in my mind. Maybe the imaginary letter to Mr. Leo is helping. Foggy cold morning. In the 1940’s we would move to a cabin in Carmel Valley to escape the summer fog.

     The Timber fire in Big Sur is still out of control and moving. No new fires reported closer to Monterey. The roaring of cars is the background noise this morning. My close friends came for a visit yesterday.  As usual we talk about medicine and families. Luckily, we like the topic. We don’t talk about our cowardly incompetent president.

     We watch another episode of THE BOMBING OF Pan Am flight 103. I am intrigued with the investigation of the bombing. Several times I am close to tears.  We become frustrated with THE CAPTURE because season two has been moved from Prime to Peacock tv with ads. So sneaky. I am reading ISLANDS OF ABANDONMENT, NATURE REBOUNDING IN THE POST-HUMAN LANDSCAPE by Cal Flyn. A hopeful book.