MOVIN' ON

For those of you Gentle Readers who've missed it (how couldya?), the great and wonderful SWMBO and I are moving to a new much smaller home tomorrow.

We moved a bit of stuff into the garage today with the help of the BRD.

But tomorrow is the Day of the Big Truck.

And the professional movers.

It's been stressful and achy and at times explosive in temperament.

But we've been through it before.

(Gawd, how we've been through it before.)

So we will survive.

I don't know when I'll be back on line.

It may be as soon as tomorrow evening.

It may be later.

But I shall return.

(Who said that?)

Stay tuned.

MEMORIAL DAY

Like Tom I too can remember when Memorial Day was known as Decoration Day.

It usually involved a visit to a cemetery or what we called in my small North Dakota town "the graveyard" to put flowers on the resting places of those who had gone on before.

There were only two in my family who served during World War Two.

My mother's brother, Connie, didn't make it home from his service in the Pacific.

The ironic story I've heard is that he drowned while swimming off of Leyte, in the Philippines, while waiting for a troop ship to take the boys home.

And my father's brother, Zenas, who was well past draft age when he volunteered and spent his service time in Burma and India.

"Zeke", as some in the family called him, came home from the war and spent the rest of his life in his adopted home of San Francisco.

After his death his ashes were scattered in the ocean off a beach where he spent many happy times.

Flash forward a few decades and a few wars and our grandson Russell (or Rusty as I've always called him) served in Bosnia, Iraq and Afghanistan over the period of several terms in the Army.

He's pictured here with his lovely wife, Kayla.

On this Memorial Day we thank all of them and the millions of others for their service to their country.

FRIDAY FUNNIES

Ah, another week, another seven days of shocking stories from Washington (and Montana).

This was the week where El Trumpo went to tussle with the NATO ministers.

The mind of Catalyst is reaching the saturation point.

So, Gentle Readers, let us ignore all of the political folderol and get on with something important: the Friday Funnies!

That Texas girl has some interesting arm candy.

O.K. dear friends we are nearing the end of today's run and I just wanted to give you one truth to concentrate on this weekend.

And with that metaphysical mystery I wish for you an entrancing weekend of frivolity and fun.

And always remember: keep on laughing!

We move to new quarters next Thursday so the appearance of next week's Friday Funnies are impossible to predict at this point.

But we'll be back . . . eventually.

Now then, here kitty-kitty . . .

(Oh yes . . . you're coming too, Blackwell!)

THROWBACK THURSDAY

Some of you who know how I worship at the spikes of the Arizona Diamondbacks baseball team and how I consequently share the same message back and forth with my buddy Baseball Steve - "Have I ever told you how much I hate the Los Angeles Dodgers" - may be surprised . . . nay, astounded . . . to learn that once upon a time in a previous life I was a fan of those damnable Dodgers.

I'm not sure how it happened but I became a fan in the mid 1940's of the old Brooklyn Dodgers as I was growing up in faraway North Dakota.

Everyone else in my family, for whatever reason, rooted for the Cleveland Indians.

But my team was the team of Jackie Robinson.  

Of Pee Wee Reese.  

And Gil Hodges.  

And Duke Snider.  

And Carl Furillo.  

And Johnny Podres.  

And Carl Erskine.

Funny how I can remember the names of so many of those heroes of my youthful days.

I continued to hope for the glory days for "my" Dodgers as they abandoned Ebbets Field and Brooklyn for the Hollywood lights of Los Angeles.

It lasted until the team was sold to an Australian, for gosh sakes.  

The hated Rupert Murdoch, who has other sins on his black record.

Fortunately for me that was in 1998 and coincidentally was the same year that the Diamondbacks came into existence.

And since I was a longtime resident of Arizona the switch was easy, even after 50-some years of cheering on the Boys in Blue.

But ten years earlier, though I was then living in Mexico, I was still rooting for the Dodgers.

Yes, those Dodgers.

Those were the Dodgers of Kirk Gibson and Orel Hersheiser and I was very proud of them.

Now . . . they're just those Damnable Dodgers.

BORN TO BE WILD

Yesterday's post about the bold, daring and never-stopping DK prompted a tip from Jager in the comments:  "Get your motor running.  Steppenwolf"

Once I looked that song up on You Tube and listened to it I knew it was the perfect refrain to follow the DK birthday post.

AN ADVENTUROUS WOMAN

Did you ever think, "I wonder what my life would be like if I ever lived to 85?"

Well those of us still around are getting closer and closer to that age.

For instance a friend of mine who I'll refer to as DK.

She just celebrated her 85th birthday and a lot of family surprised her at a gathering.

As you can probably figure out that little lady in the black top and white trousers in the center of the picture is DK.

She thought she was just going to a daughter's house for a barbecue.

But another daughter suddenly appeared.

And then her son and a grandson.

And then another grandson.

And on and on until this happy crowd had assembled around the matriarch.

Now you might figure that is enough excitement for any person.

But you have to hear the rest of the story.

You see DK and a friend had just returned the day before from a trip that took them to London, then on to a Viking cruise ship on the Danube River which took them to Budapest, Bucharest and many points in between.

And this is a lady who was on another cruise a few months ago that took her to Cuba!

DK is an adventurous woman, all right, and when she finally passes on, (many years in the future, most likely), I think they'll have to confiscate her passport and nail the coffin shut!

Happy Birthday, pal.

JUST CHILLIN'