OUR FAKE LIFE

We had a plumber here today to take care of several problems with our new abode.

He was professional, young and said he loved his work.

We liked him and certainly were pleased with his work.

SWMBO finally got to do a load of laundry, the toilet no longer runs all the time, nothing drips and the kitchen faucet is brand new and works like a champ.

Small things but it means a lot.

So our life is settling down.

These beautiful white peonies beautify our living room.

In case you can't tell, they're silk.

In other words, fake.

But they're gorgeous just the same.

I think this earlier picture, taken without a flash, looks even more like an oil painting.

My newly-hooked-up indoor/outdoor thermometer says the temperature outside is 93 degrees Fahrenheit.

But it didn't feel that hot when I was out on a breezy afternoon looking for a place to put it.

Anyway, the temperature inside is a very comfortable 77.

SWMBO is taking a nap and I think I'm gonna have a little lie-down too.

We watched much of the Comey hearing on the television this morning.

As one of my friends said afterward his impression is that the Russians interfered in our election and Trump doesn't care.

And, at least, Senator John McCain of my state should have his car keys taken away.

So it goes.

MOVING BRUISES

So we hired professional movers.

And they were pretty darned good.

But it turned out that I moved a lot of stuff on my own.

And at my age (middle late 70's) it turns out that my body doesn't react the way it did 40 years ago.

As I said to Judy (the vaunted SWMBO), I don't remember getting bruises like this when we moved in the past.

She said something rude like "you ain't the young guy I married, lo, those many years ago."

And I'm not.

Because of atrial fibrillation, and a pacemaker/defibrillator, and cholesterol and whatever problems my heart has decided to have (through ABSOLUTELY no fault of my own), I'm on blood thinners, as well as a number of other drugs.

And the blood thinners alone result in splotches like this from the nearest touch.

There's not any real pain, other than the pain of not being the movie-idol leading man of my youth.

But they sure leave their mark.

But don't cry for me, Argentina.

This, too, shall pass.

And maybe I can someday get back to taking photos of visitors to our birdbath once again.

AGONIZING FRIDAY FUNNIES

Gentle Readers, I have returned, just like Dougie McArthur.

And you thought the Friday Funnies had faded into torpor.

Ye of little faith.

So we have moved to a much smaller site.  Our garage is full of boxes and other stuff, some of which will be sold in the future.

We have downsized.

Our bodies are wracked with pain even though we had professional (VERY professional) movers.

So we, like you, I suspect, deserve a few good laughs.

And, with that, I wish you all a moving (heh) weekend full of fun and frivolity.

And always, whatever the pain and strain, remember to keep laughing.

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

(Oh, no)

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.