Hoo boy, have I been busy. Is it really 2008? I feel no connection with that number. Two thousand seven seemed real to me. Two thousand eight is a smear of colors and dreams and activities. Two thousand nine will be the year our national nightmare ends, although I get the sense that it will get darker before the dawn.

Goblin is recovering nicely from her (it is to be hoped) last surgery. Her staples were removed yesterday and all is well except that she thinks she is being punished by not being allowed to go up and down the stairs or jump on things or go for walks. To ensure her relative motionlessness, we’ve had her closed in my home office when we go out for the day. Except the first time, when we came home, we found her waiting for us down by the front door. “Huh wha huh?” The office has a swinging door, and she finally discovered that this is an illusory barrier. The next day, I put a doorstop against the door so it couldn’t be pushed open from the inside, except it could; we came home to find the doorstop three feet away from where I had left it but Goblin was still in the room. She had figured out how to leave my office and how and when to go back in to make it look as if she hadn’t left. Rob has started calling her “Foodini.”

That is all.