Already a delinquent

Great. I finally committed to this journal thing and did it online so that I would be able to access it anytime the mood stuck me and already I have let several days lapse without writing anything. I'm never going to make it to the glee club auditions at this rate.

Regardless, here's what I missed reporting. Saturday I went to Penn's Landing to see off my old colleague and friend [Dr.] Eugene Preskin as his ship sailed for the great icy north on a grant from Carnegie Mellon to study the erosion of the Arctic glaciers. Eugene expects to be about 10 days in transit, have 5 days for his study and another 10 days for the return trip. A month on the ocean seems a bit longer than I want to spend testing my sea legs, but he lives for this kind of adventure. He has asked me to check in on Amanda at least once a week and see if she needs anything. I will be happy to do it. We've been friends for almost three decades now, and it's not exactly torture to have coffee and desert with Amanda. Some good conversation may prove to be helpful with my depression as well.

Sunday I went to my folks' home for lunch and football. As usual, father and I both got pleasantly tipsy and yelled liberally at the television. Also as usual, mother was louder than both of us without the alcohol to excuse her. The Steelers rather decisively handled the Bengals for a 38-10 win. It is hard to believe this is the same team that lost to the Eagles earlier, though it was probably just as well for my sake. Being a Steelers fan so close to Philadelphia does not make me popular. If the season continues to go well, though, I may have to see if I can get tickets for us to the Baltimore game in December since it's so close.

Cecile would have loved that -- hot cocoa and blankets at a chilly December football game. We always went to the games in college, even though the school's team hardly ever won. There's something more intimate about sharing body heat under flannel while your noses redden in the cold than almost anything else I can think of. It's so hard to believe that November will mark three years since she died.

I have to stop now, or this will likely descend into chapters of gibberish rather than just a journal entry.