IT'S A PLANE . . .

Cory Lidle, a Yankees pitcher, flew his private plane into an Upper East Side apartment building the other day, killing himself and his flight instructor (it's unclear who was actually flying the plane; I use "flew" loosely). So sad and scary. Was there a New Yorker yesterday whose hands did not shake with at least a small tremor, for at least a short while? Sad and scary, sad and scary, sad and scary. If this is our life, the terrorists are winners.

***

JUST A THEORY . . .

I have no basis upon which to say this, but I'm going to say it anyway: e.coli and botulism in our salad greens and vegetable juices = terrorist infiltration?

Sure, nuclear missiles and blowing up buildings are grand and horrific gestures ... but poisoning our food is certainly more insidious. Americans, we like to eat. And when our food is messed with, we freak out. And if there are people out there who relish watching Americans freak out, this would be the route to go. Sad and scary, sad and scary.

Still, I sure do miss spinach. I must have eaten spinach five out of seven days, in various forms, prior to the e.coli alerts. No other dark leafy green compares (and everything else makes my pee smell strange).

***

FRIDAY THE 13TH . . .

Mabel is about to deliver her son ... potentially named Jason ... probably on Friday the 13th, if the Pitocin works as planned. Not sad, but still scary!

My knitting schedule has been suddenly bumped up by about nine days. I'll be awash in wool and angora tonight.

Keeping my heart's fingers crossed and my palms together in prayer ...