A RETURN TO RO HO EN

As I mentioned yesterday my wife and I paid a visit to the Japanese Friendship Garden, known in Japanese as Ro Ho En, on Thursday as we marked 46 years together.

The garden is designed as a place of serenity in the heart of a bustling major city.

An interstate freeway travels through a tunnel below Margaret Hance Park, named for a former mayor, just to the north of it but the quiet in the park would never let you know that.

On most days.

During our visit the serenity of the park was disturbed by a constantly circling police helicopter just above us.

Just before the chopper left the area SWMBO heard an annoucement from it stating that they had spotted some miscreant below and a canine unit was now pursuing him.

Life in the city.

But back to the garden.

The enterpiece is a huge pond shared by hundreds of koi fish and ducks.

At the top of the above photo you may be able to spot some tiny ducklings that appeared to be quite newly hatched.

I had noticed a pair of white swans swimming together but it was Judy's sharp eyes that noted they were not real.

They were styrofoam!

Nice touch, though, as they are quite well done.

There is a waterfall, surrounded by carefully handpicked boulders from near Congress, Arizona.

The largest, I believe just to the left of the falls, weighs 25 tons.

This huge tree started out as a humble ficus plant.

Another water feature is designed to resemble a burbling mountain stream.

A representation of a pagoda with its 13 levels which in Japan were a storage place for Buddhist relics.

And Shachi, a mythical fish with the face of a tiger (or dragon), which is used as a talisman against fire in his native Japan.

Here he has become the symbol of the garden.

Without police helicopters circling overhead, the Japanese Friendship Garden is a welcome place to escape the stress of the city for awhile.

FRIDAY FUNNIES

Gentle Readers, have you noticed that the older one becomes the faster time passes?

It seems like only a week ago I was formulating some Friday Funnies and here I am again.

Oh.

Never mind.

O.K., Faithful Followers, before I say TTFN (ta-ta-for-now) a word or two about that new banner photo above.

Those are some very insistent Koi at the Japanese Friendship Garden in Phoenix, which Judy, aka SWMBO,  and I visited yesterday as part of a minor celebration of our 46th wedding anniversary.

The "big" day is actually today and, in our celebratory mood,  so far I have hauled a broken recliner out to the alley hoping the trash truck will take it while Judy is busily packing boxes for our move next month.

Because today is Friday and traffic in and around Phoenix becomes even more nutzo at the end of the week, we moved our anniversary fete up a day.

So if the spirit moves me I may have more photos of the Garden tomorrow.

In the meantime, whether or not you have any important dates to remember I want you to have a gay (in the old sense of the word) (or the new) weekend and always, always remember to keep laughing.

With that . . . here, kitty-kitty.

(Awwww, he toasted us.)

MY FAITHFUL COMPANION

The Almighty Blackwell

VOICES OF THE PEOPLE

I had to make an errand run into the little town on the hill that refers to itself as Everybody's Home Town.

I'm talking about Prescott, Arizona.

I was surprised to see six street corners in the heart of town with sign-waving protesters.

Five of the six groups looked like these.

The anti-Trump sign wavers had a variety of concerns.

But they were unanimous in their disregard for the Trump presidency.

As I said there were demonstrators on six corners.

The sixth were a small group of flag-waving Trump supporters.

Fortunately, I think, the two opposing groups were staying on opposite sides of the street.

SIGNS OF THE TIMES (LONG GONE)

Do any of you Gentle Readers remember this bit of ungrammatical doggerel?

Spring has sprung

The grass has riz

Where last year's

careless drivers is

If you are of a certain age, you might recall that "verse" was posted on consecutive roadside signs and was followed by one more.

It was an advertising campaign for a brushless shaving cream back in the day and the rhyming signs were a delight to drivers and their passengers plying the roads around the nation.

You can find the whole story here.

For some reason that particular rhyme has always stuck in my mind and pops up every spring.

Kind of like these blossoms that popped up on trees in the neighborhood, perhaps too early and ended up scattered in the streets when the temperatures cooled and the winds came back.

BASEBALL IS BACK!

The sun is shining!

The grass is green!

The Arizona Diamondbacks opening game of the 2017 Major League Baseball season has been played to a stirring victory!

Somewhere in that scrum is Chris Owings, the hero of today's walk-off win against the San Francisco Giants, who got the game-winning hit with two out and down to his last strike in the bottom of the ninth inning.

Actually there were many heroes for the D-backs, who came back from margins of 3 to nothing, 4 to 3 and 5 to 4 to win the game.

And the Giants' would-be hero, pitcher Madison Bumgarner must be thinking tonight "what do I have to do?"

All he did was strike out 11 Diamondbacks, pitch a perfect game through five innings and set a new record by hitting two home runs as a pitcher on an opening day.

He's in the record books but the Diamondbacks are undefeated, as my pal Baseball Steve just told me on the phone.

Then there's the Giants' new closing pitcher, one Mark Melancon, who the team signed to a four year 62 million dollar contract.

He left the field after his debut in the ninth with his tail between his legs.

Yes, baseball is back, the Snakes won on opening day and all is right in the world.

FRIDAY FUNNIES

Ah, Gentle Readers, another week is staggering to a close.

It's been a rough one but it is ending happily.

I burned some meat last night.

Ohh, sorry, that's an expression I learned when I lived in Texas a few years back.

Actually I did a stove-top t-bone steak, cut it off the bone, sliced it and added it to my hot salsa de pimiento and served us each up some pepper steak.

In otherwords, we celebrated.

And now on this Friday it's time for some gentle jocularity.

O.K. so they're not hilarious but they're droll.

And that's enough for this week.

Fair Followers of the Friday Funnies, I want you all to venture out of your secure environs this weekend and enjoy spectacularly a Fine and Festive Friday Full of Folly.

And continue it throughout the weekend.

And always remember to keep laughing.

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

(uh-oh)

"FREAKIN' LUCKY"

The title of this post came from the BRD.

We had a visit today from the management lady who recently told us our rented house was being put up for sale.

Since we are not the type of people who can say "we'll buy it", we knew that we would soon have 30 days to leave and nowhere to go.

Our management lady . . . let's call her Hope.

That's not her real name but I don't want to get into any trouble here.

Hope told us she had been looking for a place for us and not having much luck.

Judy replied that we had been looking for smaller duplexes but they got snapped up before we had a chance to get in line.

Hope responded that she had one coming up because the man who had lived in it for 8 years was having to move to a larger house.

Judy said "We'll take it!"

Hope said she would have to have some painting and flooring done but suggested we give 45 days notice on the house we're living in and about to be sent packing from.

Later, when I hand delivered our notice to her she said she was probably going to put in hard flooring, like laminate.

I nearly jumped for joy because Judy had talked about how she wished we could get a place without carpeting, which is so hard to keep clean.

So, it appears that we will in about a month and a half have a new address.

The relief both Judy and I feel is amazing.

And you know what?

The new duplex is two-tenths of a mile down the same street where we lived for 12 years, up until an ill-fated move to Phoenix in 2013.

So, when the BRD heard our news she emailed us "You guys are so freakin' lucky!"

😼   😼

I HATE MOVING!

Actually what I hate is having my life upset.

Just when I get it to where I think I could live this way until I die, some SOB comes along and upsets my applecart.

So, I'm struggling.

We're packing.

We're divesting.

We're making piles of stuff that will either sell at a yard sale or be donated to whomever will take it.

Or go into the dumpster.

My biggest worry right now is that we have given 30 or so days notice on this place and we still don't have a place to go.

I'm thinkin' of a cardboard box under a bridge.

And then how would I get those marvelous meals prepared by SWMBO?

She has reassured me this evening.

She said it will all be okay.

She said we will find a place.

Come to think of it, she has always found a place.

She's good that way.

Maybe I should stop worrying.

Or find a bigger cardboard box.

BLACK FOOD

Many years ago we lived in Mexico for a few years and we loved the Mexican food.

Not Tex-Mex, Gentle Readers.

This was wonderful seafood, great barbacoa (BBQ, for you Americans), and delicious moles.

Now those last are not those critters that dig up your lawns.

These are MO-lays!

Wonderful sauces of chocolate and coffee and spices that are layered over chicken or beef or even just tortillas.

Delicious, especially the deep dark Oaxacan mole.

We went to a Oaxacan restaurant in Guadalajara that had become a favorite of ours with a group that included a friend who steadfastly refused to taste the mole.

She said, resolutely, "I don't eat black food!"

And the mole was pretty dark.

Nothing would convince her to even try it.

Her loss, I say.

Because Judy has found a small grocery that sells bottled mole that is as dark and delicious as that we had in Mexico.

And tonight (for the second time in a week) we had it over some baked chicken.

It may look like road tar but get over it!

It is delicious.

The chicken was sauced with the mole and brought to the table with some black beans and cilantro and a combination she has perfected of quinoa and brown rice.

Oh.

Oh.

And oh again.

Is your scribe happy?

Is his tummy full?

As we say in Mexico, "you betcha!"

FRIDAY FUNNIES

When times look dark and foreboding, it's the humor that gets you through, Gentle Readers, so let us continue our time-honored tradition.

All right, folks, let's get out there and have a fabulous spring weekend and always . . . . . . always . . . . . . remember to keep laughing!

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

(Hey, how do you feel about our moving, huh?)

ANOTHER LEAF

So, Gentle Readers, I've been dropping very subtle hints that a change is in the offing once again for these nomads.

We have been thinking about the future for several years as we groan into our late 70's and early 80's.

Planning on downsizing, getting rid of the accumulated "stuff" of years, nay, decades.

And now, it appears, our hands are about to be forced.

We learned on Monday that the landlord of the property where we have lived very happily for three years is putting it up for sale.

That means that once again we face the ugly prospect of moving.

A realtor was here yesterday to do a walk-through and a look-see and she told us that when the word comes for certain, since we are on a month-to-month lease we will probably have 30 days to vacate.

So that means the agonizing search for a new home that we can afford and the more agonizing packing, selling or donating the detritus of ages.

So that's it, folks.

We are not, as one of you worried, plagued by new health maladies.

It's just another relocation in a lifetime that has numbered the moves in more than a score.

I'll keep you posted from time to time.

Like the tiny leaves now appearing on the redbud tree outside my window, it is yet another new beginning.

ONLY . . .

. . . time will tell.

LIFE IS . . .

. . . just one damned thing after another.

MONDAY MADNESS

DEATH AND DECONSTRUCTION

We lost a couple of good ones again.

Chuck Berry, who some (Chuck?) say invented rock and roll, dead at 90.

His voice, along with those of Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis Presley, was in my head in the 1950's when I was a high school student.

His bizarre "duck walk", which became a trademark, evolved from an accident where he fell while playing.

Troubles with the law led to several terms in reform school and prison.

He was emblematic of the times and the trade he took up.

But it didn't stop him from writing and performing some of the great songs we all grew up with.

And this morning we learn of the death of Jimmy Breslin at 88.

A consumate newspaper reporter for decades in New York City, Jimmy told the stories of the common man so well he won a Pulitzer Prize.

A cigar-chomping, hard drinking "ink stained wretch" of the newspaper business with a knack for finding and telling a story.

Who else would think to interview the man who dug the grave for John F. Kennedy?

We'll miss them.

For the second part of my post, take a look at what Chef Judy, aka SWMBO, created for the evening meal yesterday.

It's a deconstructed (or Inside-Out) Vietnamese Spring Roll.

Shrimp, rice vermicelli, carrots, peppers, peanuts, mint leaves.

Topped with a spicy peanut sauce (unshown) it was delicious.

I know.

I'm a lucky man.

CHANGES IN LATITUDES . . .

Judy and I drove to Jerome at mid-day yesterday to meet a granddaughter and her significant other for lunch at the Asylum in the Grand Hotel.

They arrived late because of traffic tied up south of Phoenix on the I-10 freeway while wreckage from four consecutive accidents was cleared.

But they got there only about 45 minutes late and we had a nice lunch in one of our favorite restaurants.

We reminisced with "the kids" about one of the first times we had visited Jerome, of how I had a photograph of the then 16 year old daughter who became the mother of our lunchtime companion.

It's a classic photograph of her sitting at the bar in the Spirit Room, a pub that's thrived on the same corner in the heart of town for many decades.

It was pretty much a ghost town in those days and we stayed in a hotel room with a broken glass window above the bar on one of our forays.

Now it's a fancy boutique hotel, completely re-done.

This was the view from just outside the Grand Hotel where we lunched.

It was a hazy day but you can see the San Francisco Peaks 75 or 80 miles in the distance.

I had been watching t.v. before we left for Jerome and heard a weathercaster say that it was going to be in the mid 90's in Phoenix but if you wanted to cool off and go skiing there was still plenty of snow at the Arizona Snow Bowl on those peaks.

About 160 miles separates those two locations and climate zones.

We were about mid-way in between and the day was very pleasant, with temperatures probably in the low 70's.

As we said our good-byes to the young ones we were heading back down the mountain through Old Cottonwood and New Cottonwood and back home.

When we lived between Old Cottonwood and Clarkdale over 20 years ago it was a sleepy place.

Now there were fancy stores and shops and restaurants everywhere.

It always makes me think of the line from Jimmy Buffet's song "...nothing remains quite the same..."

A DIRGE ON ST. PADDY'S DAY

Who would think a lad from Dartford, just outside of London, would link up with an Irish band to sing this mournful tale of murder and lust.

Never mind the national differences.

I love this version of this song.

FRIDAY FUNNIES

I guess all you Gentle Readers out there can tell by the change of color here what day this is.

It's the day we put on the stupid t-shirts that say "Kiss Me, I'm Irish!"

In America anyway.

I have read that the people of Ireland don't mark this saint's day by any such alcohol-fueled malarkey.

Be that as it may, let me wish you the standard . . .

But enough with the Irish blather.

Let's continue now with the regular funnies.

Hey now, something to put next to my birdbath!

Please allow me to give you some words of advice: don't drink too much, don't drive, you don't even have to eat corned beef and cabbage if you don't like it.

And, since I know no one listens to my advice anyway, good luck with your hangover.

And always remember to keep laughing.

Here, kitty-kitty . . . oh, quit bullying that dog!