The first day back from The Great Not-so-white North is always a drag although I no longer sit in the front yard blinking tears back envisioning a beach in front of us instead of a suburban street like I used to when the beach urchins were young. Nowadays I actually enjoy turning up the old landfill street and even sitting in the swampy old back yard listening to the birds and the insects in the evening. That is all for now except that at the end of my current finger ordeal, I will be the best left-handed typist on earth. Except that the doc today re-casted and wrapped my right hand in a more elegant way, such that I can operate a laptop touch pad with that hand and type sorta 8-fingeredly without disturbing my pinky. (Oh, and put the turn signals on in the Frog Hopper without also turning on zee veeeendsheeeeld vipers.) Thank you Doc A. Onward and hopefully upward.

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