Kevin has an escapade

Well, guess who breeched the perimeter of his safe back yard?

Kevin.

But he didn't get far.

Little mister man here is 50% Jack Russell and this afternoon he found the bunny access that the rabbit had dug under the fence.  And the hound in him caught the bunny scent and under the fence he went.

Normally, the dogs are only outside with us.  However, today I was cleaning bird feeders while the husband was gardening in the back yard when our next door started calling out to us.  Because we have room air conditions are fans aplenty, I didn't hear her, but the Husband lept into action and that caught me eye.

Jen, our neighbor is terrified that any dog will bolt out into the street, so she stayed perfectly still hoping not to spook Kevin, who is so people happy he would have forgotten about the bunny scent and bounded to her.

As it was, he saw the Husband and was so happy to find his human on THIS side of the fence that he trotted over to his daddy, tail-a-wagging and with plenty of kisses.

When I got my hands on our houndlike Houdini I held him and told him we loved him.  He gave me kisses and we gave him a treat.  We wanted him to know he was loved.  What was the point in yelling at him when he wasn't in the act of escaping?

So Kevin spent a couple hours in the house and we spent that time temporarily blocking the bunny access points - tomorrow I'll go buy so wire cloth and debunny the yard - and when he charged out later he tried to wriggle through again.

Only this time, I was there right behind him.  And there were rocks were in front of him.

And Kevin, knowing that his days on the loose were coming to an end just looked up at, wagged his tail, and yipped.

He was twarted.

And as I scooped him up and gave him a hug, he licked my face and began plotting his next big escapade.

 

Clean up!

So many of you have wondering what the past couple days since the momentous Supreme Court decision have been like to Cookie.

The past few days have not been kind.

The first matter is a serious matter.

Apparently, Cookie's computer has either been infected by a virus, or a Microsoft update has gone awry.  Because Cookie keeps his AV up to date, and runs daily scans, and has all manner of backup programs (Spybot, etc.) running in the background, I doubt the virus theory.

But about six weeks ago during one of those wretched Microsoft updates, the Redmond Gods decided that Cookie's computer HAD to update Internet Explorer from version 8 to version 10, even though Cookie said not to.

And that was the minute grief swept into my life.

Since then programs have stopped working and or will not load correctly.  Six hours on the phone with Microsoft - at their expense - have left the computer even more unstable than before.  I would replace it with a Mac, but I simply don't have the money and the computer is only a year and a half old.  So that isn't going to happen.

The good news is that being as protective of my data that I am AND because my documents and images are literally my life, everything is backed up in triplicate on various drives.  SO, the bad news even if we have to wipe the computer clean and reload, its just going to suck time from my life as it ties me to the computer to watch it all and prompt it all.

Bother.

The second thing to drop on Cookie was a quart of of latex house paint this morning.  I was cleaning out the hall closet when I moved something that started a Rube Goldberg sequence that through various bumps and slides caused the quart of paint to drop right past my face before slamming onto the ground, causing it to flip, spiral, throw the lid off and spray copious amounts of an off white exterior paint all over the closet, the coats, our card table and chairs and most of all, me.

I'm hoping my clothes, in the washer as I type, make it - got them in as soon as the reality set in.  Got the coats in a garbage bag after treating the splatters so they get washed next.  I was able to save my grandparents card table, but the card table chairs we got as wedding presents (and are actually just in the way most of the time) won't make it. Thankfully the coats kept the paint from GOING EVERYWHERE and we can always buy new ones.

And besides, one day, that closet is going to become our powder room.

And again, the good news is that the paint got cleaned up, and thanks to buckets of Murphy's Oil Soap and  hot water, the paint has been washed from the scene.

While this was going on, I missed a doctors appointment, so I called the doctors office and his scheduler, LeVonda, who is a bitch, was not pleased.

"Well you know that we'll have to bill you for the visit because you didn't give 24 hours notice," says she.

LeVonda then scheduled my for the "next available date" of July 9th.

"Nothing sooner?"

"We have a long list of people who want to get in to see the doctor.  If any of THEM call 24 hours in advance I can see where you are on the list."

Bitch.

Oh, well. It never rains, but it pours.

Hope your weekend is fabulous.  Hope mine is too.

June 26, 2013 "Thea and Edie" Day

Today is a day of joy - DOMA is Unconstitutional!  The Federal Government may not exclude American same-sex couples from the Federal Rights and Privileges due married heterosexual couples. 

Never in my life did I think I would live to see a day like today.

But grant yourself a moment of silence - send your positive thoughts and love to Edie Windsor.  Edie Windsor refused to be treated as a second class citizen.  Send all the more love to the memory of her beloved Thea Spyer, whose death and estate tax matters subsequently set these wheels in motion.  Blessing to you Edie on this momentous day, and hugs because you can't share it with her in person.

This isn't the end, just the beginning of overturning marriage amendments in those states that don't view marriage equality as a basic human right.

I'd have to wrestle MJ for it

I want a 1967 Acadian Beaumont.  Its the one with "poise".

What was a 1967 Acadian Beaumont?

First, some geo-political stuff.  Most people outside of Canada have no idea how big a country it is.  Keeping it simple, Canada covers an area larger than the Lower 48 States.  But the population is much smaller.  When you have a lot of area spread as spread out as Canada, and smaller population you have fewer people per square mile.

And the US auto industry in the postwar era wasn't designed to cope with the reality.  PLUS, Canada's government had no intention of becoming a paler shade of the US, so there were laws on the books that "guided" non Canadain companies to design uniquely Canadian products.

Combine these two things and you get GM Canada's Acadian, which was a Chevrolet dressed up with unique trim, and sold through Pontiac dealerships.  At first they started with the 1962 Chevy II (think Nova) and by 1966 they brought out a companion Beaumont (think Chevelle).  The cars both got unique grilles, taillights and badging, and they were sold through Pontiac Dealerships, but never in large numbers.

Changes to Canadian laws removed the native auto content clauses by the late 1960s and by 1970 only Ford Motors of Canada was selling unique automotive Marques and they were dust by 1980.  The last Beaumont rolled off the line by 1971.

Now, car companies sold the same cars north of the border that they did south of the border, but some kept the unique names.  In the US Pontiac sold the Catalina and Bonneville; in Canada, it was the Laurentian and the Parisienne.

The Parisienne name should be familiar to people of a certain age.  When GM decided o suspend production of large bodied Pontiacs in 1982 and turn the LeMans into the Bonneville Model G, dealers threatened to drop the brand, and GM caved in and started importing the Canadian built Parisienne (a Catalina by any other name) to fill the gap.

By the way, there is one of these online as I type - asking price is over $20,000.

Some people just like to feel pretty

Terminal E, Logan Airport:

The camera sweeps a generic airport restroom, men coming and going and then leaving the restroom.

Cookie is one of those men.

I walk in and see the tall, good looking and very Republican man who was in front of me through the TSA Security Line at the sink as I enter.  He is brushing his teeth.

How odd and unsanitary, I think.

I stand in front of the urinal and thank God I am not a woman who needs to sit (or hover) to take a pee.  I complete my task at hand, figuratively and literally, do a two shake, zip up and approach the sink counter to wash my hands.

The same well attired man in dress slacks and a pressed golf shirt is still at the washroom counter.

He has finished brushing his teeth.

He is now applying mascara at the mirror.

This is an airport first. For me at least.

Now Cookie is six foot.  And I still like "Daddies" even though some young thing  called me "Daddy!" last year.

But this man applying mascara, with great care, floors me. He is fit.  In his late fifties. Good looking in that squeaky clean kinda way.

And he is putting on mascara.  He knows I am watching.  And this means, we are in a relationship for this split second.

Last year when we went to visit the Husband's parents we went to our favorite local joint to eat and we met the sister of a friend to catch up.  In the middle of the meal there was a commotion.  "SOMEONE CALL AN AMBULANCE!" a woman screamed.  One of the patrons was a doctor and rushed over to a man who was having a crisis.  Not a crisis like Norma would have, but a health crisis.  Everyone in the joint was staring at the man and his wife, and we were all uneasy.

The wife looked around and said "Please go on with you meal - you are making him upset by staring at him." What were we to do?  Pretend like it wasn't happening?  But we went back to our meal as best we could until the squad arrived when everyone again paused and watched the drama unfold.

I bring this up because the man applying mascara reminded me of that moment.  I was entranced by the conundrum before me.  Yet, I felt unable to look away.

Finally he broke the moment by closing his mascara container, dropping in his briefcase and then heading out the door.

Part of me wanted to see where he was going (Texas, I bet), but part of me didn't want to rush out the door and cause anymore of a scene than I had done to that moment.  How do you explain to your husband that the Daddy from the TSA line was in the bathroom putting on mascara - and I watched him do it - and not sound accusatory?

I wondered if he would take it off once he was one the plane, you know - it had made him feel pretty, but the fun needed to end before his wife "Jocelyn", which is what I named her in my imagination, drove their Lincoln Navigator from the cell phone lot to pick him up.

Maybe he just wanted to feel pretty.

Or maybe he was an actor rushing to catch a plan for an emergency performance of Othello, or Life with Father.  Or maybe not.

I told my friend Candace about this.  Candace is a reporter for an NBC affiliate and she was like "Did you take a picture of him in the bathroom doing this?"

And I was like, yeah, right.  And have airport security asking me all sorts of questions.  "Really, Mr. Cookie.  You expect us to believe that you were just taking a picture of a man putting on eyeliner before boarding his flight?"  I could happen.

But from there, the rest of the day was all downhill until we brought the dogs home.  And they could have cared less.

Anyway, I'm going to chalk it up to some people just need to feel pretty.  Even if it freaks me out.

Angst Amongst the Loved Ones

So you may be asking, where is Cookie now.

Cookie has traveled from the Old Bay State of Maryland to the THE Bay State to spend a weekend with the in-laws.

Its the real life Family Circus, except we are trapped in the peanut gallery and the people in the center ring are my in-laws and we are waiting for them to do something - anything.

Or, as I like to call it, Angst Amongst the Loved Ones.

As I have said before, my in-laws are salt of the earth good people.  But at 90 and 91 they are frail and failing.  And so are the things around them.

Though they are in good health, given everything that they have been through, its tough seeing people who are important in your life decline.

Needless to say its been stressful.

The angst is thick as molasses on a winters morn.

Earlier in the week they spoke to a local "undertakah" about final arrangements.  My mother in law wants to be buried with my father in law and vis versa and the original plans were to be cremated, and then the cremains to be co mingled and buried in the plot.

But now she wants them to be buried in the family plot.

But they can't bury one on top the other, so they would need to buried standing up.

"Eternity on my feet? Are you crazy?"

She has a point.  What about being cremated?  "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you."

Still we all feel very guilty about not being able to do more.  Its a like you are waiting for plane, but you aren't quite sure when it will land.

So we cleaned, because the carioca missy (Paolo) that is supposed to be cleaning just waves his his magic duster without catching so much a spec of dust mite poo, all the while he samba's about showering us with accolades.

"Ohhh, Meeses, choo have chuch han-some suns," says Paolo, Paolo, Paolo as he flicks his wrist (like he wiggles his hips) a foot from the lamp shade he's supposed to be dusting.

Meanwhile the in-laws are pretty much blind to what goes on around them, and if they can see, they forget as soon as something else catches their attention.

Food is another sticking point.  M.F.K. Fisher used to say that in spring you eat for freshness, summer for ripeness  fall for flavor and in winter its all in decay.  Not true, we found this poor thing in the fridge on the first day of summer:

Like it, after serval days of this, stick a fork in me, I am done as well.

Thank God for the husband, though.  He understands me.  

But unless you have been around it, there is nothing worse then seeing someone you love when they are less then they want to be.  I told the husband, if I get to that point, drive me to the beach and let the tide take me out. 

Tomorrow, we'll be home physically.  But emotionally we'll still be here, waiting and wondering what will be the next to go. 

Well? How do you do it?

Cookie refuses to take the bait.

So, Cookie was in the grocery store today - and you know by my previous rantings that going to the grocery store in Baltimore is enough to make me want to pull my eyebrows out - and I encountered another one of Baltimore's least charming persons.

The grocery store was Eddie's of Roland Park, a market that caters to those who have enough money to avoid the Giant Foods stores.  Boutiqueish, its produce varies between expensive and rotting.  I have found green peppers in the produce rack with skins so soft it is like holding your grandmother's hand.

But Cookie was hot and tired and needed a head of leaf lettuce, one pound of ground round, and a loaf of bread for the house.

I was dressed neatly: in fresh out of the dryer shorts, an Eddie Bauer tee shirt and Naot's on my feet.  On my head was ball cap - a Boston Red Sox cap.  Cookie loves baseball, but I love the game.  I do not have favorite teams.

So as I was going down the bread aisle, looking for a wheat bread that doesn't use "cellulose"  as as an ingredient, that was when Mr. Charm decided to brighten my day.

Mr. Charm was dressed in Teva's, with black socks (thought of Miss Rhiannon's rant about men in Tevas and socks IMMEDIATLY), sweat pants (who wears sweatpants on an 85 degree day?) and a wind suit jacket. 

And Mr. Charm looks at me and says: "You've got some nerve wearing that cap in here today!" 

And this gets a "Huh?" from me. 

"DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU ARE?" he yells. 

I reply that I'm at the store.

"SOMEONE IS GOING TO KNOCK YOUR BLOCK OFF FOR WEARING THAT CAP!"

I reply, "it's a hat, can you please move."

"DON'T YOU KNOW ANYTHING?"

I respond "Why do you care what cap I'm wearing." Not as a question, but a statement of fact. 

Mr. Charm then launches into a this whole "The Red Sox's are bums," spiel.   I am not amused.  This happens a lot in Baltimore.  I am just not wearing a hat, I am wearing the sports world equivalent of a "Kick Me" sign to Oriole's fans.  

I am annoyed - it is, after all, just a hat.  

I keep my calm.  This isn't what I needed from the store.

A woman looking at the imported Irish butters behind the old man turns around.  She drops her readers, looking over the rim, taps him on the shoulder and speaks:

"Two months ago, everyone in this town as all "Boston Strong" after the marathon bombings," she says. "What has changed?  So he's wearing a hat."

She looks at me for a second and reminds me of a shorter version of Lucille Bluth.  She looks back  at the old man again and says.  "Hon, save it for Camden Yard, OK?"

The man looks at her and then at me, and says resentfully to me "I was only kidding, you need to grow some thicker skin," he huffs.  He thinks the woman and I are together. 

To some, this would be an admonishment.  I've been around long enough to know that when an adult says "you need to grow some thicker skin" in a situation like this they are at a loss to say anything else because you have refused their bait and will not play their game.  A game that they think is nothing but good natured fun. 

He wheels his cart towards his wife about 15 feet away and says something to her.  She looks at me, turns and walks down the aisle, her purse is as big as a newsboy's paper route sack, and he trudges along behind her.

The woman has already turned her back to me, and resumed her fascination with the big blocks of overpriced butter made from cows that only eat clover and blarney as only the Emerald Isle can produce it.

As I work my way to the cashier I think that maybe I should have played along.  

Maybe I should throw out the cap.  

Maybe that asshole should have kept his yap shut. 

Maybe I am the asshole in this encounter.  I spoiled the man's fun.  

Or maybe I am something else, like a guy who just wanted to run into the store to get a few things but didn't expect to get blamed with ruining someone else's fun.

No Derecho, so I am going shopping...

Grocery shopping in Baltimore is only slightly better than getting bamboo splints hammered under your nails.

Lets say you have FIVE normal things on your list - and these are things and brands that any Ralph's or Kroger's would have on the self.  And you needed four chicken breasts on top of that.

Thats essentially SIX food items.  Seven if you count the husbands favorite ice cream.

Again, all normal brands, and nothing way out funky.

In any place other than Baltimore, thats a half hour - 45 minutes out of your life, max.

HERE, it's a three hour fox trot to three different stores.

You can usually get the five items and the ice cream at Giant Foods. But since no two Giant Foods is organized the same or stocked the same, its a fifty/fifty split whether they will have it, or you can find it.  You usually have to rummage around into the depths of the shelves.  That Dole Pineapple you wanted in its own juices? Sorry, they only have three shelves of Dole Pineapple, ALL in heavy syrup.

So you have to go to another store to get the pineapple rings, and your husband's ice cream, because they are out of that too. And their chicken? Doesn't look so good.

At the second store, you find the Pineapple, but they don't stock Ben & Jerry's in any flavor but Phish Food and Chunky Monkey. And their chicken? Legs and thighs, but no breasts.  "Are you sure?" you ask.  The man shows you their chicken strips, which are nice, but not suitable for chicken Kiev.

So you HOPE that Eddie's, a small pricey boutique market chain has it, because you want to avoid having to go to Graul's, another boutique chain at all cost.   You can get almost everything at Eddie's, but it ends up costing double, and they don't double the coupons, either.

Eddie's has the Chicken (organic, range fed, plump and healthy looking - I'm funny about my chicken) but not the ice cream, so you pick the husband's second favorite, Starbucks Mocha Frappuccino.

And, oh shit!  Dog food!  Eddie's only has it in large dog size Iams and the kibbles are as large as Kevin's head, so that won't do.  Onto Petco.

Petco has the dog food, but the cashiers drift away at this store and as a result, the line is a mile long. There goes the ice cream.  BONUS points, when the guy working the register returns IT'S THE CHIT CHATTER and he is master of small talk ("I had a kitten once and I named him Freddy and he was the best kitty in the world, not mean like my grammy's cat Tangy"), 'cause "we is in the south" and thats what they do instead of waiting on the other customers.

And IF the list includes London Broil slice thin and Finladia Swiss Cheese for the hubby? Then tack on another fifteen miles because you have to hoof it out to BJ's Wholesale Club for that.

Such is my life.  Perhaps I should change this blog into "Confessions of Mad House Husband"

Just a thought

Yesterday, we had some rain...

...and Mother Nature decided that a good three inches of rain in an hour and a half, on top of the already saturated ground would give us the water features that she wanted to know we had.  

Our small rain garden overflowed giving us beautiful Upper Lake Cookie (aka, the rain garden, which is a foot deep) and the it's western marshlands.

Marshlands, so we are told, help to slow the water run off and act as the "kidney's of the earth."

From there, the headwaters of Cookie Creek flowed first south, and then gathered steam as they headed towards the first set of "Cracked Walk Cataracts", and then onto...

The Great Marsh.  Its awfully swampy.  From there, the water was joined with the output of Charming Plugged Gutter Font before rejoining Cracked River Cataracts...

Where it went over the falls (the concrete thing is the spawning lift) into FABULOUS Grand Cookie Lake (AKA, the Driveway) before exiting east onto our neighbor's property.  As we all live on downward sloping lands, the water then cascaded into their yard, then the street which was filled with a foot of water. 

There was so much water that the dogs refused to go outside - they know better than to romp in standing water.  

None in basement, but the sump pump, which we have named Sisyphus, worked over time as it would empty, fill, empty and repeat every five minutes.

AND IF THAT WASN'T FUN ENOUGH...

She did it again last night between 7 and 11PM!

Today we have a dry day, but more storms are a coming. 

Looking for a pair of ice skates - Hell has frozen over.

Let's file this under "who'd a thought it?"

Evidently the other night went better than once thought.

"You mentioned you like playing cards," said one of the people who hosted the other night to Cookie while I was out.  "We like playing cards!"

Really?

"Just so long as it isn't Bridge," says he.  Cookie hates Bridge too.

"How do you feel about Tripoloy?"

I found myself saying we'd love to.  Who doesn't love a game that involves chatting, drinking and gambling?

AND someone else heard that the Husband and I play Mah Jong.

"Is it true what I heard?  You play Mah Jong? I want to learn!"

So after telling me that her husband would be of no use (he avoid games) she said "But let me ask some of my friends if they want to learn - I'll find a fourth."

So evidently, Hell has frozen over and there is a chip in the wall.

Hope springs eternal.  We may crack this nut yet.

These progressive dinners ain't no place for sissies

Well, Cookie and Husband are recovering from last night's neighborhood progressive dinner.

No "Committee of the Middle of the Street" like we had in the old neighborhood, during which the problems of the world are solved for one and all.

No.  These people "neighbor" only by invitation, and only when it involves business, or drinking a glass (or twelve) of wine.

Baltimore is a funny place.  People are nice to you, but they draw a line in the sand and then they keep you on the other side of it.  Someone told us "It's not you. It's a southern thing."  Then we told that to someone else and they laughed in our face.  "You're not in the South!  No, it's an East coast thing!"

The East coast person said "Give it time.  They're just slow to warm."

The Southern person said "There's nothing you can do.  They'll never warm to you because you're not one of them."

Whatever it is, we're sick of it.

In Ohio, if a neighbor says "what are you guys doing Saturday night" its a precursor to an invitation to play cards, go out to dinner or just hang out.

Not here. Here there is a line in the sand.

"What are you guys doing Saturday night" is a question, and nothing more.  Even if you ask them if they want to get together at your house the answer is usually "Oh, we can't.  We have plans."

Like their children's lives, the people around here like structured fun.  Spontaneity is only something that they think they have within themselves.  No, the adults here neighbor when there is a structure to do so, or as I have come to call them, "play dates" for adults.  And the Progressive Dinner is a form of a play date where neighbors mingle.

In Ohio, a progressive dinner means that ten or twelve households on a street plan the event. The idea is that by moving people house to house the for each course, that the hosts need only focus on a single specialty.  Someone hosts cocktails and finger foods.  Someone hosts soup and salad and more cocktails.  Someone hosts the main course and the wine. Someone hosts the dessert.

Not here - here there is a line in the sand.

Here the progressive dinner includes 130 houses, and everyone is invited. Only about 20% attend.  The hosts don't cook - instead YOU, meaning you the guest, cater the event.

"Like a pot luck?" I asked.

"No," the organizer said as she mentally erased some my advancement points in her head.  "This isn't a pot luck like they have in your churches," (in "my" churches?) "it's a progressive dinner."

The rules here are that the hosts tell you what to bring based on your address, or what side of the street you live on.   So people who live over there - you bring a finger food.  If you live on the even side of this street, make a salad. Odd numbers? Bring a main course.  And that the cul de sac? You provide desserts.  All the food is delivered to the host house before the event.  And if you want boozey boozey, or wine?  BYOB.

THEN THERE are the cliques.  The idea behind a neighbor event, as I was raised to believe is to spend time with everyone.

Not here - that line in the sand again.

HERE you smile at everyone, but hang out with your school pals.  So the private school people hang with the  people they went to private school with.  Public school people, they hang with the people they went to school with.  Academics?  Together.  And us interlopers who moved her after formative years?  We stumble over each others interests trying to find commonality.   And the general rule for all rules is "don't break into someone elses group."

And then there are the two gay guys who live in the manor house that once owned the land that all of our houses are built upon.  They get a free pass to any group.  Because they live in the manor house and are fabulous.

Well, not really.

One is rocket scientist - seriously, he's a divisional director at Goddard.  And the other one?  "I'm a leading national authority on authorities."

Huh?

"I help networks and news shows find the right authorities for their shows, and I work with leading authorities to keep their TV-Q up and in front of producers of the leading TV News programs."

Really.

And both of them are terribly pretentious.  The rocket scientist is this nelly thing who loves holding court with older women and thrills them ("Why, yes!  There is a big shiny red button, but it's Top Secret!  How did you girls know about that button?") with his stories.  And the Authority?  He gives the room the same advice that he gives to authorities before they go on TV.  "For Face the Nation?  No, I told the Governor. Ignore the nation. More like Face the Host.  Don't look at the people back home because it upsets them. Just look at the host."

Yup, they get fawned over.

And the husband and I?  We took our desert, and then we took it back home as no one ate any of it.

I am hoping that over time I don't turn into these people, because they are not who we are.  Still, I'm feeling a bit as if we are being hazed, and after last night, I am feeling a bit hazy.

Perhaps its time for a bit of the hair of the dog that bit me, and then I'll take the boys for a walk so they can crap all over the front yard of the Authority on Authorities and he can become a bit of an authority on something else.

Ketty Lester sings Love Letters

Wonderfully understated.  A solid hit of 1962

Ketty Lester could act, and she sure as Hell could sing.

Tell me why this woman didn't become a superstar?  And how has she faded into oblivion?

I need what she has

Well, having returned from vacation, we have spent a day in the worst case of jet lag imaginable.

It was a whirlwind trip, needless to say.  And oh, what a week it was, indeed.

Last Thursday we did Felix in Hollywood Tours and found Felix to beyond all words charming.  And cute, too!  And we had a lovely, lovely little lunch at "Off Vine" as well.  The husband wanted to go to the LaBrea Tar Pits, so we did that as well. 

Friday was spent as a guest of the Huntington Museum and Library where I was given access to a collection left by my second cousin.  Helen would never talk about the family while she was alive, but her father collection of family memorabilia and history was beyond all words and expectations.  We thought that we would spend an hour or two.  We were there for five hours identifying pictures.  Glorious!

Friday night we dinner with my friend Thomas Colby and his adorable boyfriend Alan at a cute place in the valley.  The food was affordable and good. 

Saturday was spent visiting little spots around L.A. - those that the tour books seldom if ever mention.  We were also given access to the Forest Lawn (Glendale) mausoleum under the auspices of visiting a great aunt and uncle and we wandered about seeing who was buried where.  I have to say that the art glass windows in Poet's Corner, with the verses in bronze on marble, were stunning.

Saturday evening we had dinner with Donna Lethal - and I can tell you that she is even more beautiful in real life than I imagined.  The restaurant she chose was intimate and the food beyond all words yummy.  Then we retired to the hotel for people watching in the bar.

Sunday we spent with my brother and his family.  It was good catching up and we got to do laundry.

Monday was MORE madcap fun with Felix.  Imagine Felix as Auntie Mame dictating everything he knew to us two gooches as we walked around Hollywood Forever.  Then we had lunch, not at Schrafft's, but at Langer's Deli.  From there we went to one of the finer second hand stores in L.A. and then to a intimate little place that you have to know someone to get into.  Luckily, they had room for us to enjoy a cup of coffee. 

And finally, yesterday was spent in transit.  

Now that the pups are home, and there is a gentle breeze coming through the windows, I am off to bed to try and sleep through this fog. 

And on the breakfast menu tomorrow?  

Some sugar.  Cookie has a long day to Watusi through. 

We are still running amok

Well reader, as you review this posting, be advised that I am still running amok, and my poor, long suffering Husband is now, as I type this, laying prostrate with exhaustion.  Poor man. He's trying to keep me under control, but I just find tangents and we are off on another adventure.

But when Felix promised to show me the orbit of Uranus, who was I to turn him down.  

Yes, I met Felix - and my FULL report on him is coming when we get home.

Today, that wanton burst of energy took us from Taco del Mar, a small inland community nestled in this nation's "star city" in the morning.  We were enchanted, to a degree. 

By afternoon we were standing high atop a Mt. Sinai Memorial Park visiting my great aunt Sarah's grave (She looks, by the way, fabulous - they have real perpetual care) and I was morphing into a middle age Jewish man.   I do that, just like Zelig.  

Anyhow I have worn the hubby down and extended our stay in this scrumptious hotel - overlooking Vivid Entertainment's world headquarters.

More to come, including dinner with Ms. Donna Lethal herself!