"vous n’êtes pas maîtresse de votre destin."

Excuse me?

I am reading this in French Vogue. The astrology page.

"vous n’êtes pas maîtresse de votre destin." I am not the master of my destiny. Hmmmmm....

A isn't feeling up to going to the boathouse for rowing practice today. This is the last week of required practice before tryouts, and he exerted himself a little too much last Friday. He has been limping around the apartment all weekend long. He took hot baths and I massaged him to give him some relief from the soreness. I hope he's ready for practice today. But I will not push him if he isn't.

He is reading Kissing the Rain, and informed me that he will be reading that book until he is ready for his English lesson (a sonnet to write, and Taming of the Shrew to read) today. I guess one would call that self-directed learning. Or something. I am not complaining. I've got writing to do.

We are eager to see Capote with other homeschoolers this week. I just love Philip Seymour Hoffman's work.

After a phone conversation this weekend with my grandmother, A's great-grandmother, she has asked us to rethink the dogwalking-for-dollars idea. "Isn't that dangerous? Or can it be? What if another dog attacks the dog he is walking?" She is not normally a litigious-minded person. Most teen jobs are given to 14-year-olds, and A has yet another year to go. We are considering teaming up for knitting duty and selling our products on the street or online. Until he is able to exhibit his photographic work in galleries and request large sums of money for the work.

My latest fave blog (in case you didn't already know) is The Sartorialist. I have always appreciated New York style; this photographer has a good eye, and is not too shy to approach the famous folk.

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