THE END OF THE SEASON?

The day started with fog.

By the time SWMBO fired up the barbecue grill, the sky was gray, the wind brisk and the day crisp.

Was this, then, the end of grilling season?

On this final(?) day the menu featured bone-in chicken breast.

The chef said she sprinkled the raw chicken with smoked paprika, which promptly burned.

I said "Hey, blackened chicken breast . . it's a treat!" (Thank you, Paul Prudhomme.)

And, you know what?

It was great, giving a tasty sharpness to the chicken. We both liked it.

On the side potatoes gratiné made with store-bought shredded potatoes, some French cheese, cream, seasonings.

If it WAS the end of grilling season (for this year), it was a great way to go out.

(If it wasn't . . . what are you gonna do next?)

Thank you, chef.

LATE BLOOMERS

Spotted on my stroll around the neighborhood this evening . . .

A LITTLE OF EACH, PLEASE

Rainy morning.

Sunny afternoon.

FRIDAY FUNNIES

That music!

Do you hear it?

Is that "Hail to the Chief"?

No, no, no.

It's "Hail to the Friday Funnies!"

And to the continuing saga of how cats and dogs stay warm.

The control on the left is set to "Toast the Cat".

These little rascals are risking a slow burn.

The rest of these, cats AND dogs, are looking for warmth in the light.

Then there's artificial light.

And THIS cat even climbed into the lizard's cage to share his warm light.

Before we go, a reminder about the upcoming Special Day.

Still laughing?

Good.

Have a great weekend!

THROWBACK THURSDAY

It's finally over and for the first time all week we're smiling!

The 1984 Republican National Convention in Dallas, Texas.

(For those who care: left to right, Photographer Gary Stafford, Reporter Ron Talley, Producer Al Macias, Photographer Howard Shepherd, Photographer Wally Athey, Anchorman Kent Dana, Producer Bruce Taylor)

We all miss the late, great Howie, gone long before his time.

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

TUESDAY TRAVELS

When I was a younger man I liked to get on top of things.

Like buildings.

It started, I believe, when I was a little kid.

I liked to climb trees.

I had a favorite place in what I called "the big tree" in a weedy alley a few houses away from ours in Stanley, North Dakota, where I grew up.

I would climb up there and, sheltered and hidden by the leaves, sit for hours, some times reading a book, some times just looking out over "my realm" and living in my imagination.

Some years later I became an amateur radio operator and climbed on various roofs to string antennas.

Being up on roofs never lost its fascination for me.

The views from above were fascinating to me and made me feel somehow powerful.

I remember once in Phoenix during an evening with friends, Timmer and Beaner, I climbed to our roof to get a better look at a distant lightning storm.

My wife and my friends refused to join me and only got me to come down when I "needed" a cigarette.

(I smoked in those days as did everyone else.)

But old age and the infirmities it brings have put a stop to my climbing.

So this rang a bell with me.

As one of my heroes, the late Kurt Vonnegut, would say - "so it goes."