Moroccan Interlude

(Thank God for my family.)

Having read my cri de coeur, and sincerely worried for my sanity, my family has spirited me off to a riad in Marrakech and filled my time with amusements such that I cannot compulsively check the news from the United States to see if our feckless House of Representatives has passed the Ukraine aid. (I will be permitted to write, but only for three hours in the morning, and not on any permutation of “imminent doom.”)

You and I shall be taking a cure in Morocco until the end of the week, where we will (literally) study basket weaving. You will, of course, receive a detailed report. So don’t change that channel: It just got a lot less depressing—at least, for a few days, while I pretend the whole world is as perfect as this:

Itt must be said: No, it is not the best of all possible worlds. But it sure isn’t the worst, either.