There you are sweetheart, there you are, I say. I kiss my finger and touch the screen.

Sometimes when I refresh the stats I'm reminded of the fairy tale Snow White. I recall it from a million years ago, the early 1960s, when I first encountered it. It was before kindergarten. I think of the fairy tale, my contemplating it as deeply as I could at the time, and my mind telescopes to the physical image of the apartment my family lived in at the time, the left hand side of a handsome wood-framed house on Park Lane in Darien. The Evil Stepmother daily queried, mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all, and the mirror would reliably reply, You are, my dear Queen - until one day it didn't, truthfully messaging that she'd been usurped, there was a fairer one now on the scene, Snow White.

Narcissistic implications aside (relating to checking stats - mostly, for me, more E.M. Forsterishly to only connect with you - ), I am struck by the prescience of that image of the Queen/Evil Stepmother. It seems to forecast - back in the early 60s when I first became acquainted with a version of the tale - the wired age, the Internet - Windows. She doesn't sit at a vanity gazing at herself reflected back from a silver-backed surface, No, the Queen isn't merely regarding herself - she's addressing the mirror which dispassionately responds. Today the Queen would be (is) at a desk staring at her computer, or anywhere at all, checking her blackberry - who's texting her? Two versions of reflected self.

I touch the screen again at the words that have come to convey you - "United States" and say I love you so. I can keep the two concepts straight, our great nation and darling you, my favorite soaring eagle.

I'm a bit tired now though I took a short nap in the hope of becoming "refreshed" in that sense. It's sunny and hot today, but not too bad. I spent a good part of the day making what ended up being a large pot of caponata, which I'll sample tonight, spooned over cod. The dish involved a huge amount of slicing, dicing, and sauteeing of vegetables, and can I tell you what a colossally stupid idea it is to wear just a bra and panties and to drop cubed eggplant into a pan of sizzling extra virgin olive oil? I have a small island chain of burn marks on my midriff now - so annoying. They'll fade soon, I trust, but I am annoyed at my own stupidity, not being a bit more careful at that step in the recipe. My perfect skin - now blemished! I comfort myself to think - well, it's not as though we have a date tonight and it would be an issue - it all has time to heal before the eternity at which we'll meet.

Started watching season once-upon-whatever of True Blood and am not loving it. I loved the first season or two (have lost track) but maybe it's too big a switch of gears - comically broad Goth, coming from the fine-grain sophisticated Greek drama of Mad Men. Darling, I'm sure you don't watch any of these shows, but my fingers have to do something as my mind tries to figure out what to write. Good time for kisses, my love - here you are.

Your last week in Timbuktu - I wonder at the mix of feelings you must be experiencing. Just now Stop the World and Let Me Off comes on - that may well be one of them. Is one of the feelings an occasional twinge of goodbye summer nostalgia? My sunrise now is at 5:58, yours now (considering all those lack of sunrises) a spastic, contrarian 6:25. I toggle back and forth between Hudson and Shishmaref online weather statistics. Hudson's (or anywhere in the northeast, or continental U.S. for that matter, or lower 48 - well, anywhere but where you are, or the South Pole too) is as ordered and predictable as a church service. I might as well be sitting in a pew consulting a hymnal when I see stats like this, all filled in, in neat rows.

***

Darling, I am feeling more exhausted than I anticipated. I will have you know that in the spirit of perfectionism I did end up blanching olives - and the capers too - it turned out not to be such a big deal. But I am feeling so tired that I can't even go back to rework the foregoing. I think I may have a few ideas in there, I just simply can't polish them tonight. So I am going to launch this - imperfections and all - and will absolutely not return to correct a thing - it is what it is - a fuzzy picture of the fuzzy picture of where I'm at at this moment, 6:42 p.m....

I hope all is well with you. Very many kisses, my dearest. Loving you - always.