It rained overnight, and rained intermittently all morning. Clare's study group came for a session, and I went out and did some more shopping. I continued working on grandpa's story before Clare dished up a bowl of salmon soup, made from the carcass of the filleted fish she bought yesterday. Fortunately it had stopped raining by the time I went out for a late afternoon walk, just as the sun was skirting along the western horizon. In the garden at twilight we spotted four of seven planets currently overhead emerging in a clear sky. The other three are less visible without binoculars. Urban pollution helps obscure them too.
After supper, another intense evening of work on grandpa's story. The remaining narrative section that I had originally misplaced is now where it should be, connecting nicely with the rest of the story. My work is based on a sparse collection of interesting historical facts, with my own speculative fiction padding it out into a full story of the era in which he lived, emigrated to America and returned to marry grandma. It was eleven thirty again before I stopped, to get ready for bed.
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