After ten hours of furious typing, checking for correct spelling on names like Prigogine and words like vernunft, and listening and re-listening and re-listening to the point of bafflement, the transcript for Grace Lee Boggs's interview is finally complete.
And it's a mess.
So as with any rough draft, now is when the real work begins. Oof.
In the meantime, I'm at home and the Slice of Shoreview is doing its thing in Island Lake Park. Derrick wants to head over this evening for his annual mini-donut splurge. Mom just read an article to us about UFO sightings in Elmwood, Wisconsin. (On their website they say, "Did you know we're the UFO capital of Wisconsin?" followed by a happy alien hovering in a glitter orgy.) Dad and Big Sis churn out homemade pizzas and during baking time we fade in and out of the living room, chatting it up, enjoying the slight breeze and the sunset, reminding Elena to sit in her chair while she's eating, which she has somehow forgotten how to do. That kind of evening.
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