Husky/Sheltie, golden, dachshund

Larked at ten to nine. It was much too hot by the time we got home. We met the Husky/sheltie again, though. Her mistress asked if Grandma had kicked me out early again. Yeah, kinda, except it isn't even early anymore. Legacy thought she had to protect her mistress from Lark. Yeesh, and my dog hasn't even realized I need protecting from anything. Possibly just as well......

Started a series I've had on the wishlist for months. Watashitachi no Shiawasena Jikan, Our Happy Hours, is a manga adaptation of a Korean novel, with Sahara Mizu in charge. I've always liked Sahara Mizu; her works leave me with an indescribable feeling, a sort of disturbed peace. This one is no exception. It's the story of a young woman who doesn't play the piano any more and a young man on death row. As they open up to each other, we learn their stories, feeling their pain as they feel one another's. And as they teach each other to find meaning in life again, these two people, who have both tried to commit suicide several times, learn to hope--and to fear. There's one more chapter untranslated in the series, and it'll probably be a couple weeks before they release it.

Sahara Mizu is the only mangaka whose multiple tragedies I'll read, knowing for certain that they are tragic. --What is that word?It's a strange word.....What are its parts, how do they fit together? Maybe it's Greek.... Excuse me a moment...........Hm. Apparently the unreadable Greek root meant "goat-song." Latin derived from it "tragaedia," which came to Old French as "tragedie." Should've seen that coming.

I was reading Hourou Musuko by the time the man came to work on the swamp cooler. Patrick is a middle-aged Japanese man, shorter than I am, and he said the cooler has a bearings problem, which he will fix tomorrow. Right. Okay.

Mike came by after three to talk to Grandma. She brought one of the watermelons Grandma likes, Dulcinea from Safeway. I balled it for a watermelon salad, like the other night's. Mom got here about five, in time for dinner, and there was enough time for me to take Lark for a quick run before that--with the result that I was extra hungry, of course. 

We larked again at eight. Saw a woman out biking, who passed us quickly. Lark followed her, though, and when she was getting out of sight at the bend in the end of the slope I started to jog. Just as well, too--she'd met up with a dog. He was this little, hilariously round black and red dachshund. His people were on the turnoff to Nevada, with a golden wondering if he wanted to come over too. In the end, the dachshund went back to them, and they talked the goldie into coming while I told Lark she didn't need to go over. We, again, didn't even go all the way along the first leg. It was really buggy, and I had to have us back before dark. There was a young red buck feeding in the willows on the way back. He watched us suspiciously, not bolting even when Lark galloped past. I love it when the deer just watch....

Fifteen pushups again, no breaks, urgh. Twenty situps--getting easier. I have to take a break after the pushups or I don't make any progress with the situps, though.

They were playing Dvorak's New World Symphony when I went to bed. I lay awake listening trying to figure out what it was--my first guess had been Dvorak, but then there was plenty of time for second-guessing before the ninth movement, which is the bit I know really well--and then I think as soon as it got to the ninth movement and I went, "Oh, so it was Dvorak," and relaxed, I went to sleep. Oh well.