This week I’ll get back into school work with a gusto! he told himself, until he told himself something else, different, a bit later. It’s really just a question of which day I tell myself that, and the gusto which takes place between now and then.

Let us begin with the site’s most popular weekly feature, checking in with the kitties.

We have a nice picture window in the library, which sits on the front of the house. And there’s a little bench or a shelf there. I thought about putting some cushions down and turning it into a pleasant little reading area. Phoebe beat me to it.

She sits in this box, on a little cat blanket, and enjoys her afternoon naps in the sun. It’s adorable, of course. And reliable. At certain times of day, that’s where she is. (Usually I don’t disturb her as I did for this photo.) And of all of the jealousies between the two cats, this is one place where her brother leaves her alone. And so there will never be a reading nook there, because that is going on.

And here she is looking all cuddly on top of the comforter.

The theme here, then, must be comfort. Here’s Poseidon, who usually tries to eat the plastic, using a resealable bag of trail mix as a pillow.

(Keep that life hack in mind, hikers.)

He came out from his usual afternoon napping spot, wherever that is, to watch a bit of the Tour with me. He likes bike races. Must be the colors and the motion.

So the kitties, you can see, are doing well. We all are just peachy keen. My lovely bride is nursing a calf twinge she got on a run. I am suffering through a bad streak on the bike. Let me tell you about it.

I went out Saturday evening, intending to do about two hours or so. Instead I did 4.3 miles. I got a flat on my back tire. This is the calculus you go through.

Item 1: I am close to home. Given the hour of the day, and the PSI limitations of my small handheld pump, I can’t change the tube and complete the ride I’d intended.

Item 2: Given the hour of the day, and how close I am to home, there’s no need to change this tube here, in this little neighborhood. I’ll just re-inflate the tube and nurse it home. And stop and reinflate as necessary. (Never let me talk myself into that again. — editor.)

So I pumped the tube to about 50 PSI, owing to the limitation of my pump, and set out for home. A quarter of a mile later, I’m doing it again. And in another quarter of a mile, again. Now we know the rate of air seepage. It’ll be every quarter of a mile. The direct route is 3.5 miles home. OK then.

Some kind soul stops their car asking if I’m OK. I’m OK. Another cyclist comes from behind and checks in. He patiently waits to see me on the road again and I take off, knowing he’ll be catching me again in a quarter of a mile. And what do you know!? There I am and there he is. This time he uses his pump, which is better. More air. Maybe I can go a bit longer. Another car stops. Still great! Anyway, my new cycling friend, a pleasant fellow named Mike who rides with a speaker lashed to his handlebars, helps me inflate the tire and off I go again. Now we both know the score. I am just trying to ride this flat to the top of the hill to stop in the shade once more. Because, after that, it’s a downhill and an uphill and, anyway, I stop and he catches me for the third time. He is very kind and if I’d known he’d been back there I would have just changed the stupid tube three miles ago because this has gotten awkward. One more inflation, one more round of sincere thanks and my encouraging him to not stop for me next time because I’m almost home and, anyway, he’s trying to go somewhere too. And so I mystify him with the parlance of my people …

“Ppreciate it.”

… and we each pedal on.

So my 30-some mile ride Saturday turned into a 4.3-mile ride and a 3.5-mile return farce.

This set up nicely for a Sunday afternoon ride. The Yankee has decided that she can try riding again with her calf and so off we go. She’s fine. I know this because she passed me at one point and I said What happened to taking it easy? She looked down at her computer and said “I’m only doing 130 watts.” I looked down at mine and said, I ask because I’m doing 21 miles per hour and getting dropped, so …

And about 10 miles later she did drop me, and I started feeling the heat.

Or, put another way, it was hot outside. I went through three water bottles in an hour, which is a really high rate for me. And I eased up a bit on the way back home because I didn’t like how it all felt and I know better. And I still had a (relatively, for me) good speed.

This evening we were supposed to go for a ride with a neighbor, but then the lightning and the rain showed up.

So, then, the highlight of the day was heading over to the medical laboratory this afternoon. They have the right sort of name to be a thinly veiled, not-very-well-thought-out evil henchman front in a movie. It’d be cooler if they had a few Tesla coils with surging electricity zipping through the place. Instead, it’s an old brick building, sharing space with a tanning salon and a kids dance studio. It’s a five-star dance studio, though, and that somehow offsets the two stars that the blood lab receives online.

Does anyone take online reviews seriously? I don’t. I would say something like “Is that really a four-star pizza place, or is that a Martinsville four-star pizza place?” Meaning, all of this is relative. That’s usually a good joke and a wry observation, but in this case, a woman is going to stick a needle into my arm …

Anyway, standard issue blood draw. Checking the numbers. Prove I’m healthy and blessed, well, not beyond measure because every one of these tests is measuring something or other, and all on different scales — including a Martinsville scale! — to throw you off as a patient and consumer.

I had the paperwork. The website for the testing place said I needed an appointment. My lovely bride, who has been there before for similar basic tests, said that’s not necessary. So I fasted the requested amount of testing time and then went in. The woman at the desk finally got around to me. I said, I have these orders, but otherwise no idea what I need to do. She pointed me to a little tablet kiosk. So, on the one hand, I don’t have to hand over my documents, and on still another hand, she did not give me a clipboard. On a third hand, the check-in process was done at my speed, which is reasonably fast. But, on a third, another place to scan your insurance card and type in more emails and phone numbers and … look, last year some place scanned my palm to establish my identity in the system and, off putting as that was, maybe it was better.

Anyway, a young man was called back for whatever was required of him there. When they built this office they did dry wall about 80 percent up to the ceiling, so you can hear everything, both over the lid and through the thinnest gypsum board on the market. He was having a tough time. The woman said, “Stay with me. Stay upright. I’m here by myself and don’t want to pick you up.” She kept his attention. He kept complaining. Which, I guess, gave him something to focus on. But it was pitiful when he said “Can we just pause?” and she the technician said “You can’t stop blood.”

And he was just doing a simple blood draw. I know this because the technician, who was also working the desk, was the woman who drew my blood. And don’t you know I wanted to cause a scene so as to cover for that young man. I did not, though. This poor woman, working solo while her trainee was actually out to lunch, was dealing with enough.

Instead, when I exited through the lobby I looked to the old man in a neck brace awaiting his turn and said, It’s brutal back there!

He just smiled and pointed to his walker.

After which I raced home to have lunch because my food fast was about 15 hours old.

He wrote, just before dinnertime.