Good Saturday, Stroock's Books reader(s), you brave few [He ain't kidding-Ed].
We got in a Judaism last night with another Kaddish for Mr. O'Neill.
A bit of rain last night. Speaking of the weather, the temperature will climb to 80 degrees today.
No gym yesterday, a game time decision and a wise one at that. The knee is a bit better this morning than it was yesterday morning. Maybe today.
We are profoundly troubled by the collapse of the CPC in Canadian polls. Sorry Pierre, you have to have more than 'I'm not Justin' and 'I'm mad at Trump too' Speaking of, Trump is at least partially responsible for the Canadian Lib's rise, is he not?
The Things.
More fits and starts with World War 1990: Thatcher's War, but at the end of the week we'd found the novel's center, its core, its inner light, if you will. We wrote the rough of a chapter where a bunch of world leaders are watching the funeral and pondering the state of the world a few weeks after WWIII. So far we have James Baker, Mulroney, Mitterrand, Kohl...we may add more. Hey, what's Dan Quayle doing at the funeral? World War 1990: Thatcher's War is 52,000 words.
The War Night proof has arrived. We approach it with, you know it, great fear and trepidation.
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