Just before Hols. That's short for Holiday, when Europe does the intelligent thing and takes six weeks off for some self-indulgent Summer fun. As I write, Judy and sister Patty are on a walking tour of the Gower peninsula in Wales. In a few days the children and I will rendezvous with them and journey on to Bath, the West Country, and my ancestral home. For now, a quick look from whence we left off ...

 The answer to our dilemma of school for Chris was resolved. It's homeschooling. The reason? Money. Active Duty families get the lion's share of services. Contractors (that's us) get them on a space available basis. Because DOD School budgets are tight, they cannot promise Chris a slot for next year ... even though, as a US citizen, you'd think he had a right. Phone calls and parental outrage came to no avail. Perhaps it's for the best. DODS schools are a mine field, and Chris would rather school at home.

 My job prospects seem to be looking up. My Business Writing course proposal was accepted by the local college and, enrollment permitting, I will teach this Fall and start work towards an Adult Ed. Certificate. Karmic forces are at play as I probe this new twist in my brilliant career.

  Judy and Chris returned from a fun time Stateside. Judy scored 50 out of 50 in her course assignment, and, as her editor and publisher, I must selfishly take some credit. Harry Potter, too, returned from his fifth year at Hogwarts. I read the latest installment - an impressive 870 pages - almost as quickly as my son. (He gulped it down in two nights.) The ride was worth the hype. So much for Tolkien. Bravo, Ms. Rowling!

 Elena attended her examination with the Royal Dance Academy. Her teacher, Miss Jackman, is a sprightly and energetic woman who can handle ten giggling pink leotards with ease. "On your toes, girls," she pipes with a boarding school accent, "Remember, you are lovely butterflies." All the girls passed, of course; a little feather in each little cap that will serve them well in the future.

 The weather has been until recently sunny, warm, and dry. In short, unusual ... but good for the Summer harvest. The hay fields went first. Trailers stacked with bales thundered along our narrow roads. In their draft loose stalks boiled into the air like the ecdyses of large, molting bugs. In the denuded fields tractors pulled tankers that spilled a noxious brown slurry with an odor like an overly neglected diaper pail. Fertilizer, I suppose. In time, the fields will be plowed under to make way for the next winter crop of sugar beets.

  On that bright note, I'll bid you all adieu ... until the next issue, of course! Keep those letters coming!!