The verdict is out, loud and clear. We're having foreclosures and will have more, marching their way into the affluent westside. Source: breakfast reading of the Los Angeles Times. Breakfast: fake bacon, fake egg, grapefruit, tomatoes and butter lettuce. Some coffee. I am exhausted. Already. Yesterday was an intensive day; productive yet exhausting. We met about my mother; about our son's special ed. needs, a meeting we had awaited to go our way for almost three years. The caveat in this wait is the inability of special ed. to cater to kids whose IQ is very high but are performing below their potential. We did some HW and the meeting went fine, in a mostly amiable ambiance.
The last meeting was a stop worth stopping for. My gyn knows an endocrinologist whose methods combined to Weight Watchers group talk can reduce my weight, condition new eating habits and educate me towards a new perspective on food. This was a long meeting, filled in the end with a gift package.
I can feel the pain of displacement here in California, the fires are still a possible threat. Natural disasters elsewhere are worse. Talking of natural disasters, the talking heads were here, at the edge of the abyss, but prudently didn't step ahead. A photo of grey noon, when snow-like specs filled the air. Click to enlarge, please.
We honored our deal with SAMOHI's administrators and took our son out to dinner at his favorite restaurant. Then he tells us he scored 85 on History, the course he's supposed to drop. Now what? It's out of our hands.
He's hit the shower to start working, his dad-dee and my husband is sleeping, I hope for a while longer.
I am the alarm clock of the house, the organizer. I am regaining my health. I am happy my problems are tackled and solved, one by one.
I'll leave you here with the two photos taken 10/24 at noon, all is grey, and the other one a brown sunset. We are happy all we suffered was a dry cough, a pre-asthma attack and have to thank all who helped us achieve our objectives.
Let's hope the displaced in California don't build in the fire zone again. It's nearly seven in the morning, the day is a greyish blue. June gloom days before Halloween.
Later, Al Gore's new plans and my support of them. For president Hillary, for vice-presidente Bill Richardson and I'll tell you why in the next post. Bill Aberdeen is not to blame. It seems Hill has too many Bills around her. The sunset at four-thirty. I leave you a video about Dolores Duran, the first songstress and songwriter to strike me in my newfound Brazil. It's your chance to grab that brasileiro/a to tell you all about it.
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