Scanning some of my blog colleagues work today I decided it was time for a little update on our gardening efforts.
So we examine the back patio tomato barrel.
Scanning some of my blog colleagues work today I decided it was time for a little update on our gardening efforts.
So we examine the back patio tomato barrel.
Get the bird books!
We've got a new species!
It resembles the Cowbirds that frequent our back yard but this one appears to have a blindingly white beak.
I've never seen one like that so it must be something new.
Let's blow this photo up a bit and get a better look.
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.
Banana Bread (with Walnuts and Coconut).
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 . . .
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?
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.
We had a visit recently from Judy's firstborn, Scott, from Indiana.
We often say that he looks different each time we see him and this year was certainly no different.
When you get to be our age (the 80's, for those who care) life becomes somehow more simple.
The Wisdomatics would have you believe otherwise.
They'd say things like "Do you have a will?" or "Who's going to take care of you?" or "What will you do if you have to go to a hospital?" or some blather like that.
But if, like us, you're in "fairly" good health and most of your bills are paid and you have an excellent family provider in the neighborhood, your cares become much smaller.
Like, "Damn, these chairs are uncomfortable!"
We bought them less than ten years ago but for some reason the padding on our derrieres seems to have thinned in that time.
They were patio chairs, part of what SWMBO insists is called a Bistro Set.
But they were metal, hard like steel, and the pads on them had ceased to provide comfort.
Plus the arm-rails were harder than they used to be.
Do you know what I mean?
So she began "researching".
(That's what she insists on calling "shopping.")
And she found some plastic Adirondack chairs at a local store and sent me to buy them.
Which I did.
But when they arrived, after a day or so of trying them, she found that not only are they difficult to drag these old bones out of, they were still a tad less than comfortable to our backsides.
So she "researched" some more and found some chair pads.
Which arrived today, delivered to our door, thank you very much, retailer.
And here, without further ado, though I have wasted much "ado" up until now, they are.
Didya miss me?
Sorry I wasn't here yesterday but I had lunch with the BRD and as oft happens when we get together I just lost all touch of time.
Well it's been awhile.
There's been a pandemic.
I've been kept in my home.
And there was some really good beer in that alehouse.
So gimmee a break, willya?
All right, enough of that Bowery Boys language.
Let's get on with what you *all* came here for - the pre-weekend phunnies.
First off, for my pal Jager, who is celebrating (?) his 76th birthday today: