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Potholes in the Road

I’ve been bumping through a few potholes lately, which is why my posts are sporadic.  Minor ones–my husband was pickpocketed as he got off a commuter train in downtown Chicago.  A professional band of thieves–they had his credit card numbers distributed throughout the country within minutes–we got reports of charges as far away as Orlando, Fl.  Kudos to MasterCard for instantly sorting this out.  Kudos to my husband’s dentist: my husband was en route to have a new crown made and the dentist gave him cabfare home.  Boos to the U.S. banks.  In Europe, you have to have a pin number to use a bank card as a debit card.  Here, you only have to swipe the card.  It took a week for Chase-Morgan Stanley-Megatherium to agree to cancel $2800 in charges.

A bigger pothole.  Death of one of my cousins, my age.  He was a marathoner who had a sudden heart attack as he was getting ready to run a marathon.  Leon, rest in peace.

Small pothole.  Very bad job of copyediting the new book, in which the copy-editor randomly entered grammatically incorrect verbs and phrases.  I’m still trying to put the ms back together so it makes sense, and that takes all my physical and mental energy–so–more later.

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