Exactly Two Weeks and Counting!

Hello Bloggers and Fans.  No early posts today, and this one will be incredibly short.  The little one is sick, running a semi-high fever, so she's got all my attention today.  Before I share page eight of THE SAVANNAH SYNDROME (TSS), I do want to talk about another one of my favorite shows:  New Girl.  If you aren't addicted to this show like several million of us out there, well, I'm sorry, but you've missed out.  You need to start watching season one and work your way back to last night's amazing episode.  It's a quirky, silly comedy with an amazing cast of original characters.  My "significant other" and I have been hooked since the pilot episode.  It's a fun, light half-hour show that keeps you entertained, another hilarious sitcom generally about nothing, but simultaneously about all kinds of things.  All I can say about last night's episode, without giving away the most monumental moment on that show to date, is that they created one of the greatest kiss scenes in television history.  At least it should be reviewed that way, in my opinion.  But anyway, moving on.

So here is page eight of TSS, it's still available rather cheap here, where you can read the whole thing at once.  I still can't believe that, in a way, TSS has been a forewarning of the terrible flu season this year, without even meaning to.  Buy the book and you'll see exactly what I mean.  Happy hump day everyone.

"other, and that she was perfectly safe, she moved from the lower floor to the spiral staircase in the northeast corner.  The stairs were high and narrow, winding tightly around to create a low ceiling, which had at one point demanded her attention to keep her rod from getting snagged on a concrete corner.  But now the dimensions of the fort felt as familiar as the dimensions of her body.  She knew every crack and corner, every steep step and low entryway.  This fort had become her most trusted ally and even it did not warn her of the coming doom.
     Today she took the steep steps two at a time.  Here, again, if the stairs had decided to be unforgiving, she might have tripped and come crashing down painfully, abandoning her fishing trip to properly bandage any cuts on her elbows or shins.  But she had easily ascended the stairs and emerged slowly on the top level of the fort.  She slinked toward the inner edge of the thick outer wall, resting her elbows on the crumbled brick surface and scanning the eastern tip of the island.  Only the tall marsh grass moved before her.  Cicadas sang their loud song all around her.  Feeling secure, she pulled away from the northeast corner and ran toward the western edge of the fort.  She kept her body compact and her head under the visual protection of the brick wall.  She laid her rod and bucket next to the single cannon that faced the north side of the island before heading to the terreplein along the eastern wall of the pentagon shaped fort.  She slithered over the upper ledge and crawled through the high grass seeds.  Once she reached the outer edge that overlooked the demilune and the area where the old draw bridge had sat, she scanned the island to the west.  Directly ahead was the parking lot, which had been overrun like everything else with high weeds, grass, and dirt.  She trained her eyes on the line of trees that sat directly on the northern curve of the parking lot.  Her eyes followed that tree line as it concaved toward the north marching west.  This part of her scouting trip was much slower than when she scanned the eastern tip of the island.  If she were to get any visitors, they would most likely come from the west.  The birds"

At the altar inside The Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist