Swap our places.

On account of half the members of my dad's book group not being able to make it in person tonight, the other half decided they might as well all meet remotely. No cake this month. Thankfully, I got the call about it before warming the butter. Now I've got some under-ripe tomatoes that were going to go into a streusel cake and some red and black raspberries that I was planning on using as a backup in case the tomatoes were too ripe for the cake. I'll probably cook with the tomatoes and either eat or freeze the berries.

The usual receptionist is recovered enough she might be in next week, though it's still too soon to say for sure, and even if she's in, whether she'll be up to her full or operating at a reduced capacity. It's certainly pointing to an end stage of the gig, which somehow has me enjoying it more. The inability or the difficulty to savor the indefinite, I suppose. Something along those lines.