Ah, the Mamas and the Papas.  I returned from a weekend in Charlottesville, Virginia late last night in time to watch the Sox lose to the Yankees. That’s okay. I’m not going to let this ruin my birthday. Monday birthdays are odd. So far it feels like a regular day, except for the lovely sweet-smelling, pink tulips sitting next to me on the desk.  I read Richard Russo’s new book The Bridge of Sighs (on sale next week) on the plane ride there and back. I expect this book will get some glorious reviews. I have only a few small reservations about it, but it’s still quite a damn good book. I think Mameve Medwed’s review in yesterday’s Globe somewhat off the mark. She makes the story seem too simplistic, but she’s correct when she says “whatever the scale of their lives, Russo’s characters – the stars and the walk-ons – are gorgeously drawn. The writing is always in service of illuminating them”.