FUTURE AND PAST

 I know I'm growing old.

After all, I was born in 1940.

But apparently that word has gotten out.

I received what I would call a "spam" email this morning from an entity inviting me to take a virtual tour of what they call "11 Beautiful Cemeteries" around the world.

Now I have no fear of my onrushing demise but I'm not encouraging it either.

So I declined the invitation to visit famous resting places.

I have been to the gravesites of my parents and my grandparents and I have seen a photograph of my great-grandparents tombstone.

But there's one place I probably will never visit but would like to.

It's now called the Taylor-Bray Farm and it's on the original site in what is now Yarmouth Port, Massachusetts where my 7th great-grandfather, Richard Taylor, settled after arriving from England in 1639.

He built his home near a large rock and became known as Richard "Rock" Taylor to distinguish himself from another Richard Taylor who had come over the pond at the same time.

The farm stayed in the Taylor family until the late 1800's when it was sold to George and William Bray, who farmed there for another 50 years.

They had a stone plaque installed commemorating the first Taylor's founding of the site.

I know, I can't read much of it either.

Now, in the way of the Bible, Richard begat Richard Jr, who begat Jasher, who begat Isaac, who begat Stephen, who begat Ansel, who begat Emmons, who begat Berthold, who begat Franklin, who was my father.

Of course there were many other children "begatted" through the centuries.

I remember once coming into a genealogy of our family and was being pretty impressed with myself until I read that Taylor was about the sixth most common name in the country.

But back to the Taylor-Bray Farm.

It's a National Historic Site now and a preservation website claims it was inhabited by Native Americans for some 10,000 years!

So there's a lot of history there.

But I bet Richard "Rock" Taylor would never have imagined that a very distant relative of his would someday make his living for a time as a "rock and roll" disc jockey.

SATURDAY PROJECT

 Banana Bread (with Walnuts and Coconut).

First cut.

Delish!

The coconut gives it an added kick.

(Mark Bittman's recipe)

THE FRIDAY FUNNIES

 To those of you who join me in being confused about what day it is, it's Friday.

Once again.

And I and my crack team of humorologists have been hard at work excavating some items from the Inner Web to titillate and amuse you.

So let us proceed.

And with that, fine friends and fanatic followers, I shall finalize this week of friskiness and folly and put a "finis" on it.

Now, let's all get out there this weekend and have a Fabulous Fourth.

Well at least those of y'all in the Yew-nited States of Amurrica.

I invite the rest of you to also have a great weekend.

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

TALES OF THE CARIB

 

Chili's calls it a Caribbean Salad.

Judy calls it "Mmmmmmmmm".

A STORMY SKY

 

And a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

RE-THINKING

 The birds that visit our back yard are a constant source of pleasure and ofttimes amusement.

For example, this sequence involving one of the doves.

I first spotted him on the wall contemplating a brief flight to the birdbath for a drink.

I grabbed a camera and was rewarded with this shot as he changed his mind, midflight.

Rather than landing, he aborted his mission and flew back to the wall.

I'm not sure what frightened him but a bit later I saw another dove marching around on the ground and the sight of a potential competitor may have been the reason.

At any rate, he sat on the wall for awhile before flying away.

Dare I ask if his mien depicted consternation or embarrassment?

SMOKE

 Firefighters are slowly, very slowly, getting a handle on the Raphael fire north of here.

We are in no danger except for the incredibly smoky skies.

Here's what it looks like this afternoon.

That photo doesn't really do it justice.

Here's the view toward the town with the Bradshaw Mountains to the south nearly being obscured.

It's a stinking mess with the north wind blowing the smoke down to us and, I read yesterday, even 80 miles further south into Phoenix.