Still, life . . .

First apricots of the year. Well, the first that I've bought, anyway.

I wish I could say they were plucked in the dewy dawn from my own orchard and displayed in a bowl I found years ago in a market in Mandalay, for which I bartered my battered pith helmet.

But the apricots came from Costco and the bowl came from Pier 1 imports.

Kids today . . .

Conversation in the car on the way to school. All three youths present. I'm explaining something I have to do for the day job.

"So you work for a bank?" Secundus asks.

"I used to work for a bank," I clarify. "Now I'm a consultant to a different bank. They hire me when they need something written, but I'm not an employee."

"So you're a hired gun."

"In a way. . ."

"Do you get a gun?"

"Of course not!" I grasp at a passing whimsy, trying to change the subject from firearms. "But I get a unicorn."

"You get a uniform?" Tertius pipes up from behind, suddenly excited.

"I said unicorn, not uniform."

"Oh," he says, clearly disappointed at the trade-off.