RHAPSODY

A favorite piece of music for both Judy and I is the famous Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin.

I stumbled across this recording of it performed by the Georgian pianist Khatia Buniatishvili and the Orchestre National de Lyon with Leonard Slatkin conducting.

Everyone is perfect in this performance of a very difficult but beautiful piece of music.

Do yourselves a favor, just lean back and enjoy this.

THE FRIDAY FUNNIES

I asked my PT person Tuesday how he'd spent his Labor Day.

"Laboring", was his response.

Well it serves him right for what he's been putting me through, I thought, but instead I commisserated with him.

So was your week any better than his?

Well I guess you didn't have to put up with me so there's that.

Hey we tried Swai for the first time the other day.

Have you?

Swai is one of those strange words for what is, essentially,  farm raised catfish.

Ours was imported from Thailand.

But we, unlike some people, like catfish and Judy prepared it like American catfish and it was very tasty.

As a matter of fact, I cleaned up a leftover filet with a couple of scrambled eggs for my breakfast this morning.

Yeah, I know.

Judy, too, says I eat strange breakfasts.

Well enough about that.

Let's see what I've dredged out of the humor bank this morning.

So that's it for this pundelicious weekend, my friends.

Now do your absolute utmost to have a wonderful weekend, even if it's only a couple of days.

And always remember to keep laughing!

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

( . . . oh, me too . . . )

THE BAKER

We have new neighbors in the other side of our duplex.

The man is an EMT (Emergency Medical Technician) with a fire department.

The woman is a PA (Physician's Assistant).

Before they moved in a truck stopped at the end of our driveway one day as I was returning from the mailbox and the woman in the passenger seat rolled down her window.

I went to see what they wanted and quickly learned that they were the parents of one of our incoming neighbors.

As we chatted, I mentioned how I had spoken to the realtor who was one of the two people who helped me when I had my fall about six weeks ago and said "Wow! With my history it's going to be good to have all that medical help next door!"

When the woman expressed concern I told her that the fall was a very rare occurrence for me, that I was fine and, when she asked if I had trouble standing or walking, I responded "I'm a baker!"

I explained that my baking is only at home and only now and then.

A few days later the new neighbors moved in and Judy suggested that it would be nice to take them some homemade cookies as a welcoming gift.

Cookies which had yet to be baked, I might add.

But I've discovered a new (to me) recipe that is simple and chocolately delicious so I quickly whipped up a batch and later took a plateful over to their door.

I was met by a woman who I quickly learned was the mother of the other side of our new couple and when I presented the cookies, she exclaimed "Oh, you must be the baker!"

My "fame" had preceded me.

At any rate, Judy had moaned that the few cookies that I'd held back for us from that event had definitely Not Been Enough, said these were her new favorite cookie, and begged me to make some more just for us.

So this morning, I made a double batch and here's the weary "baker" with his product.

I said a double-batch which would be 48 cookies but if you had a drone flying over our counter you would see there are only 46 on that cooling rack.

And that's because SWMBO had already snagged two before the photo was taken.

One other thing - Judy and I have a disagreement about how much light is required for any project in the kitchen.

When I come in and see her working in what I refer to as near darkness I quickly turn on a light and say, snarkily, "There! Now you can see what you're doing!"

When I am in the kitchen I turn on every light including a very bright one over the sink that Judy refers to as "the floodlight".

After my efforts in the kitchen this morning I asked her to come in and take the above photograph for me.

When she was done she pointed out that "the floodlight" was lit and said "There's that light on again!"

My quick and somewhat mindless response was "I haven't turned it off yet!"

(I meant that I still had some clean-up duties in the kitchen.)

But her answer to my statement was "Well that's pretty obvious!"

Ain't married life fun?

A TEE'S

I was just reading the blog post of a friend in Wales, U.K. who I refer to as Gentle John, partly for his real name and partly for the name of his blog.

His post today was partly about the tee-shirt he had chosen for a visit to his library.

It caused me to reflect on the tee-shirt that I had chosen to wear today so I thought I'd show it to you, as John did his.

The Spirit Room is a long-lived corner bar in a town built on a mountainside not far from where I live now but I haven't been there in years.

Back in the day, I used to visit it regularly, especially on weekend afternoons when live music used to rock the air.

I first discovered it back in 1972 when Jerome was pretty much a ghost town.

The town thrived in the late 19th Century as rich copper mines brought workers to the area.

It was once called "The Wickedest Town in the West" because of the number of bars, gambling parlors and brothels serving the mainly male population that grew to over 10,000.

But the price of copper dropped in the early 20th Century and eventually the mines were shut down.

By the 2020 census, the population was listed as 464.

But residents began promoting it as an art and tourist destination and now the streets are jammed every day of the week.

The town was named for Eugene Jerome a New York financier who put money into the initial mining operation.

He was a cousin of Jennie Jerome, who later married Lord Randolph Churchill and became the mother of Winston Churchill.

"And that", as Paul Harvey used to say, "is the rest of the story."

Here, by the way, is the back of my tee-shirt, gifted to me by the BAD years ago.

LABOR DAY

 It's the first Monday in September.

The day celebrated as Labor Day.

Oh, no, no, no.

Not THAT kind of labor.

THIS kind:

A day when unions are celebrated thoughout America.

It dates back 130 years, to 1894 when President Grover Cleveland signed the Congressional act that made it a national holiday.

Earlier he had sent federal troops in to crush a strike in a town just outside Chicago and 12 workers were killed.

Some people say he signed the Labor Day act as a peace gesture toward the working class.

At any rate it's been a holiday and a three-day weekend ever since and for a long time seen as the end of summer.

And you know what that means.

"You never wear white after Labor Day."

So say the traditionalists, including my wife.

But that was based on the wealthy putting away their white gowns and suits in the Hamptons and returning to work in grimy cities.

Nowadays, with the advent of casual clothing year-round, that old rule doesn't hold to be true anymore.

At any rate, fire up the grills one last time and fix some burgers or hot dogs and enjoy the day.

But it's going to be near 90 degrees where I live so don't forget the ice cream!

STILL LIVES

One perfect apple.

Chive blossoms.

THE FRIDAY FUNNIES

It is such fun every week to try to come up with a new way to introduce our fun and frivolity Friday fanfare.

I think this week I will do it by thanking a mysterious but frequent contributor to the Comedy Bank.

She's a friend of a friend and I have never had direct contact with her, that I know of, but whose output is forwarded to me by my friend.

All clear now?

She will henceforth be known here as Constantly Chucklesome Carla.

Some of this week's potpourri have come, indirectly, from her so let's see what her sense of humor is like, shall we?

So that's it.

Thanks for Carla and all my other contributors.

It wouldn't be the same without you.

Now I expect all of you to labor to have a remarkable, long weekend.

MONDAY IS LABOR DAY!

Summer is (officially) over and Autumn is lurking, so they say.

Whatever is your wont, always remember to keep laughing!

Here, kitty-kitty . . .

( . . . oooooh, sorry to disturb you . . . )