I AM A CLOSET RED SOX FAN. Not really, but because they are going up against the Hated Dodgers in the World Series …It’s baked beans and cod fish for everybody!
This year was not a good year for my beloved San Francisco Giants. In fact it was an “Annus Horribilis” as Queen Elizabeth once put it. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong. To top off the misery the dodgers made it to the World Series. I was in mourning for several days.
DON’T YOU JUST LOVE FACEBOOK? It has enabled anyone and everyone to speak their mind – regardless of how ill informed, mistaken, or just plain dim they may be.
These are my people.
This morning I saw a posting that read, “If we are descended from monkeys why are there still monkeys?”
That’s a fair question even though it is a lot like, “If my grandfather was an only child and my father didn’t like to eat chicken, why do I still wear a wristwatch?” There’s a lot going on there.
THERE ARE ONLY TWO TIMES when families get together en masse – weddings and funerals. Nobody got married this week. After the departed is laid to rest everyone gathers together and tells stories. They also try to figure out who are those little ones who have grown so tall since the last gathering.
There are always new babies to look at and questions asked about anyone who isn’t there. There is also someone trying to explain how and who is related to whom.
“Hiram over there is your third Cousin, twice removed, and married to Lulubelle who is actually the sister in-law to your Aunt Fedora Mae. Got it?”
“But who is that man sitting over there by the potato chips?”
“I don’t know. I thought he came with you.”
PICKLE BALL? I’VE HEARD OF IT. I’ve never played it. I have no desire to play it. It sounds strenuous and I don’t do strenuous any more. I’ve seen pictures of people playing Pickle Ball and at first glance it looks like a combination of Tennis – Ping Pong – and Cardiac Arrest.
The only reason I’m looking at it at all is that I know someone who is into Pickle Ball in a big way. He is always heading off to play here in Terre Haute (That’s French for “I’d like a Gherkin, please.”) or to take part in some National Championship tournament.
Down the Hall on Your Left 