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  • At the end of the day, I sometimes sit out in the field with my husband and have drink.
    We call this “Moxie Time.”
    In Maine, Moxie is actually the official drink.
    Moxie is an acquired taste that I have not acquired.

    What we call Moxie is a nickname for a cocktail.

    This summer it has been Campari and soda with lime.
    This is an acquired taste for me, and this summer it stuck.

    We sit, and sip and have small snacks.
    We review the work in process and current events.
    “It’s time for a reading night soon.” He said.
    “I’m not sure you’ll like what I’ve been writing,” I worried.
    It is not so much that he is critical, it is that he is sharp. The superpower of “Jewdar” gives him keen insight into many topical matters.

    I told him what I had been writing about recently, “Biceps, one story was about body parts,” he looked at me quizzically, “ and then about spider webs, Angelo’s students and privilege.”
    “All middle class and upper middle class Americans are privileged, Europeans too.”
    He said with swift and conclusive analysis. “But what then?” he asked.

    I sat and thought about the “what then” for a moment.

    “What I really want to hear people talking about is the server farms,” he said.
    “The cloud right?” I asked.
    “Yes the energy used by a server farm is equal to the energy a citie uses, just to store all my data and everyone else’s from Amazon.com., and everything else.”
    “Shit,” I whispered.
    “People will notice when they start to pop up all over, people will start to talk about this.”

    We finished our “Moxie” and headed inside to cook dinner.
    I started to think about the cloud.
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