Lindsay's back in Michigan. Her grandmother's very ill; so, her parents flew her back last night. I'm glad she's back, but to my credit as a human being, I really wish it were under different circumstances i.e. her grandmother wasn't dying. Still, her return has thrown me for a loop. I spent all of June longing for the trip in July, and since I've been back I've been steeling myself to accept the harsh reality that I probably wouldn't see her until Thanksgiving or Christmas. Now, ever fickle Fate has intervened, and I am grateful. (Of course, the dark bastard demands his due. So, it must also be said that next week I shall once again grapple with the Anteaus of separation.)

I apologize, I know I've been whining. For that, dear reader, I am sorry. You deserve better. I am suspending "45 Things" for the duration. (Yes, I'm sure you're crushed. "Whatever will we do?") Fear not, for next Monday, excepting any delay caused by her grandmother's demise, The Secret Base's one and only special department shall come roaring back with No. 32, the straw that may break the camel's back.

In the meantime I leave you with Eloise Fisher's epitaph from Rushmore (the original source is unknown to me): "The paths of glory lead but to the grave."