Now if I had panned a bit to the left, you could have seen Summer’s blue jeans drying on the fence.

When I remember where I set the camera down, I will post a picture of what I saw yesterday at 6:20 in the morning. I saw it after I got in the car and started to back up and thought, “Why, I believe I have a flat tire.” Really. That’s what I thought. I did not think “&^%%$%#% flat @#%$#@% tire.”  There are just some unexpected things that put you in a stunned state and apparently this was one of them.

I got out and walked around to the passenger side front and there it was – spectacularly flat. From her seat in the tilting car, Alison asked, “Is it flat?” I answered with a simple yes, but already the unstunned, sarcastic AmeliaJake was kicking in and I thought of saying, “Why, no, it’s not flat. A sinkhole developed under that particular tire and it is following it around; it is a magical sinkhole. Oh, watch out . . . I think I hear Chinese voices wafting up.

So, anyway, I take her to the hospital and return to ask Cameron where in the heck is the travel film on Britain he wanted me to watch and I kept putting off . . . because I looked for it for 20 minutes the night before, even getting down on my hands and knees to peer under the table and sofa. On the mantle. It was on the mantle and he picked it up and looked at me and so I told him to put it in the machine. By the way, he had first said to me, “Well, let’s get it done,” when I returned, referring to the changing of the tire. I had already decided this one was beyond me and said we’d wait and have a professional tire evaluator look at it. No, I didn’t say that – for some ridiculous reason I just typed it – but I did indicate we would wait until business hours to call someone.

So there we are watching scenes in London when the camera focused on a man holding a child of about two and I blurted out, “My heavens, that kid is homely.” Yes, I am that type of person – going straight to the “H” word in reference to a toddler. I don’t know if it was a penance imposed from above but I wound up cleaning the back vestibule all the way down to its little concrete floor. Oh, the things I found . . .  including an antique sink pump that I am considering spray painting red. Summer and I can do that, although she and I with a spray can would involve a level of trust I don’t know that we can muster.