FOJ

We're hot off the holiday weekend—which happened to be really hot. Tis okay, the Fourth of July is supposed to be hot. It's the natural order of things.

Friday, went to the river—an excellent little beach/swimming-hole combo fringed by a set of rapids on either side that you can ride down on, say, a tube. There, we all swam and tanned until we were impossibly crisp from the heat. The dog fetched, like, a million sticks. Or one stick about a million times.

Saturday, skated Mini West Linn—an excellent little park where we could all skate or sit happily in the relative cool under a deciduous tree canopy. Later, there was a BBQ function at Derek's house, where I grilled and ate a giant mushroom and then drank too much whiskey as the neighbors' renegade rez-bought mortars lit up the sky all around us.

Sunday, well, Sunday was a day for rest.

Ben blew up a watermelon, and George got the shot.

Party people.

Swamp thing.