Drive with Father Andrew and Marissa and parents, and our family. We talk about sultry summer. We stop at a liquor store. The city looks like Vienna. I take out Zena in her stroller. We walk out and along a path. Wonder what parishioner will think? Then go up and down stairs. I balance books and baby. I laugh as I have trouble balancing: "With my first you know what would have fallen: not the books." I tell him of Wendy writing three poems. I ask if they could not all get together for games.