Leftovers

People always think Fio is an extrovert, but actually, she's an introvert who talks a lot.
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Fio just realized that the first letters of Trump's kids' names spell out D-E-B-I-T. Think about it.
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Vision, what they see, is the dominant force driving some people. For other people, noise, what they hear, is their dominant force. The former, like Fiorella, are artists. The latter, like Husband, are musicians. Fio requires silence and Husband needs sound, sound, sound.
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Pray for Fio. It looks like she'll have most of the day free to write--after she's picked up some timbers at Home Depot to finish off her raised iron plant bed, of course.
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La Piloto seems to be resolving its major plot points. Dave and Yolanda are together at last, and John Lucio is in federal prison. Now for Zulima, who killed Amanda, to gets her just deserts. Also, Oscar Lucio should join his brother in the hoosegow, Colonel Santamaria should meet a bloody end, and the corrupt politicians should be exposed. Fio hopes that Monica will be exonerated and receive her own happy ending, but has a feeling that she's going to sacrifice herself to save Dave or Yolanda.
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Husband will be getting his knee replaced soon. A couple of months ago, his left shoulder was replaced. Fio has quite a few replacements herself. The airport metal detectors are going to have a field day.

Venting

Scream, scream, scream,  crash, bang!  Fio is having another breakdown.  Anger and frustration is the name of the game.  The bank has her credit score wrong, and she wants to sell more books.  After stomping around for a while last night, she sat down and emailed Friend Claire for information about promotions, then emailed the bank about the incorrect credit score.  This morning she awoke with a promotion idea or two herself.

And, on the side, she's working on the house and writing the third book, the novella.

Pray for her.  She prays for you.

Noisy Planet

Seven a.m., when Fio takes Sonya Dog into the backyard every morning, is a very noisy time out in the boondocks. The air is full of high-pitched chirps, tweets, pipings, rattles, coos. and crows, an orchestra of soprano instruments.

Lower the pitch a couple of octaves and Fiorella would be hearing dinosaurs. The din must have been deafening. Fio wonders--has the planet ever been silent? Maybe Earth's vocalizations are what distinguish us from the rest of the universe.