SEVENTY! Seventy times now, my mom and I have posted news about my life

 “It wasn’t funny, Mom.”

“I thought the Ciabatta was your favorite” I said.

“It was.”

“What happened?”

“You guys are a fluid feast of salt, protein, and stuff,” said he

 If the above paragraph resonates with you, if you can hardly wait . . .

I’m a cooperator. Got it. I’ll get us home

My mom and I were playing catch in Otis’s back yard. My mom’s a terrible tosser.

I should tell you about all the reasons people visit Santa Fe

“The picture you see here from Santa Fe is me, laying in a bed of clover,”

I’m in Santa Fe.

“Still, it was pretty funny,” said Scooter. “Until I hear you say that bad word.”

Have you ever smelled California’s Central Valley? Oh my! It is glorious.

I very nearly started to tell you about the massive jet tub that occupies a third of the suite’s space.

 “May I share the video of your Bootie walk?”

“I’m glad you didn’t have your camera handy.” We are reminiscing, Scooter Sublime and I.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” I said.

“Don’t explain,” Scooter urged. “Describe it.”

 “I need to tell you something, Scooter.”

Did you see that, Mom?

“I saw that.”

“Were you watching?”

“I was.”

“But you’re not watching now.”

Picture it. Scooter, snug in his thick winter coat, runs wide-legged and swift through soft sand, careening up to his elbows into the edge of ocean water that pretends containment,