It's hot and humid here where I live. Stepping outside is like being hit in the face with a used towel that someone (not me, mind you, but someone else) left on the bathroom floor.

Not only is it a hot, humid summer, but it's an odd one for me. The knitting store I've worked at one day a week has closed its doors. We're not taking a summer vacation this year for various reasons, and so I have no escape from the heat to look forward to. My daughter's home from college, but she's never home. My son is about to start high school -- he's in that transition stage, moving from awkward preteen to God knows what. My studio flooded with the torrential rains we had a few weeks ago and I am still trying to put it back together.

And there's no summer tour.

So it's an unusual summer, but that's not all bad. I'm trying to make the most of the time I get to spend with my children this summer. I made the pilgrimage to see my parents. I'm knitting and writing. But I'm still missing a tour. So I'm watching clack occasionally, and pretending.