As the banana ripens.

So by that,  you might guess that I just might make some banana bread.  But that won't happen until tomorrow. 
I did manage to "step up",  so to speak,  and put dinner on the table,  but after T.C. and I polished off a bottle of wine,  I dare say that baking at this point might be ill advised.

Meanwhile,  and not wanting to somehow be left out of the whole "baking at home due to the virus"  situation,  Daughter Number One has dipped her toes into the bread making milieu,  with her first offering of sour dough.   The word is that she's bringing over some "starter" later this evening for her Mom. 
I try to stay out of it. 

We do however,  have some "spare" flour sitting on the counter ready for her to pick up.  I dare say that D.N.O. is one of those who rarely uses flour in her life,  and therefor didn't really have copious amount in the house for her baking adventures.

Just a hunch.

Both daughters are pretty good cooks,  but I do have to say that,  something went terribly wrong with that generation,  as they never really cottoned on to the notion of baking for ones own needs.  I suspect it wasn't due to some lack of interest,  but more like the lack of time needed to do that sort of thing.  If you're not getting home from work until some time in the evening,  you are NOT going to then have the motivation to whip up a loaf of ....whatever.

And really,  this was true of T.C. and I,  back when we were their age,  so maybe I should just shut up about that.

Anyway,  that was tonight's offering.  Shepard's pie.  Although,  actual Shepard's pie is made with Lamb,  so I suppose it's some sort of hybrid,  or bastardisation.  Whatever,  it's one of the few things I can make with relative confidence,  so there.

We wolfed it down.


What I had actually thought of earlier today,  and that I was going to comment on was just how the US is now NUMBER ONE!   Yay! 

Um,  not in education,  or quality of life,  or (God forbid) health care,  but the US is now Number One in the world when it comes to the number of cases of this new Corona Virus. 

As the French would say,  "Bien Fait".    It doesn't mean what you think it means*.

Awesome to be Number One at something.   Maybe just not THAT thing.

Of course,  as in the case of our own number,  I think the actual number of cases is somewhat higher.  First of all,  not everyone can get tested,  even here in "socialist" Canada.  But moreover,  even with Orange Head's huge relief bill,  even those with health coverage are somewhat fearful of going to get tested,  as they can get a "surprise bill"  from the hospital.   You know what I'm talking about,  don't you.
Plus,  there simply aren't enough tests.  Don't get me started.

See,  for Canadians,  the idea that you have to have a "Health Plan"  is as foreign to us as the need to have a hitching post for our horses.  There are horses in this country,  to that I'll admit.  However,  they're not needed for every day transportation,  so there's no hitching post needed here at the Ponderosa.
Or a carriage house.  And news flash,  we don't live in Igloos.  Just wanted to point that out.

Anyway,  we're all "covered".   No money need exchange hands whenever you go to the doc.  Now,  there are certain tests that,  if you decide you just HAVE to have one,  you just might have to pay.  The only example I can think of is the PSA test.  If the doc orders it,  it's covered.  However,  I was willing to pay the fifty bucks a couple months back to have that particular test done.  It's free once I'm sixty-five,  but maybe I want to know now whether there's an issue with my prostate. 

I suspect the biggest expense we have when/if going to the hospital,  is paying for the damned parking!   It's like,  seventeen bucks a day!   But the visit is free!
Just make sure you walk there.  That's my only beef.





I'll let you chew on that.

Thanks for stopping by.

Keep your stick on the ice.

And wash your hands!


*even though "Bien Fait"  looks like it would mean, "well done",  it's a Frenchman's sarcastic way of saying "Well done,  idiot".   Like that.    Usually with a condescending tone.

The final application.

I hope.

I was actually starting to write "The final solution",  but that has a whole other meaning.  Not a good one.

Although,  we are talking about...  extermination.  But I'm only talking about wasps.  Honestly.

Man,  I'm digging myself a hole here.


The other morning,  I was out on what was then the shady side of the house knocking back the weeds,  and I realised that the hoe I was using had just the right shape that would allow me to pry off the top area of the trim without getting too close to the wasps.

So,  yesterday morning,  before they got too active,  I did just that,  which allowed me to see just what the heck was going on behind it.


Can't see much,  actually.

The ones that have survived are still going in and out of a tiny gap in the foam up there at the top.






This evening at dusk,  I got up there with a step ladder and sprayed in another dose of Wilson's "One Shot".

Even though really,  it's taken more than just the one shot.  Hate to say it.  I guess you're supposed to be able to get this stuff directly onto the nest,  but like I said, these guys are up in behind the foam insulation somehow.  No bueno.

I'll see if there are any dead bodies in the morning.   There were a few yesterday morning after I removed the trim,  but when I went back out to take another look,  they were mysteriously gone.  Maybe blew off?   Dunno.

Did a little more prep work on the painting end of things today.   I'm on to the next colour,  so I had to go back to one spot where it looked like I had a bit of a thin spot and put on a wee bit more.
Hate when that happens.

Wednesdays can be a bit of a wasted day for me anyway,  as I go to breakfast with a bunch of other old farts and generally complain about whatever is bugging us at the moment.  Right now it's the number of high rise condos that are being built in our downtown core.  Which is one of the reasons that Burlington has slipped way down to number 31 on the "livability"  scale that some group or other put out a while back.  We were ninth in 2017. 
Don't get me started.

Not sure how accurate it is,  but if they use the same criteria year after year,  then I suppose there's some credibility to the study.  Some magazine called Money Sense.

*****

Saw these suspicious looking characters wandering up the street yesterday.  This is what happens when you're painting with no window coverings and the camera is close at hand.

Think they're Jehovah's?

 Maybe Seventh Day Adventist.

    It's been a few years,  or I dare say *decades* since we've had anyone come to our door selling their particular brand of piety.  I think I've got the message across.
I won't elaborate.

Well, except that,  there was this time,  and this was the first summer we were here in 1992, when  two ladies came up the driveway and wanted to "chat".    I said I didn't mind,  but as I was cutting the grass at that very moment and it had to get done,  and they had interrupted the proceedings,  I simply asked which one of them wanted to keep doing the work?  You know,  so I could sit and "chat".
I *love* to sit and chat!

Hey, it's what I was doing this morning at breakfast!

However,  neither of them thought they were up to cutting the grass.  Lazy Bastards.
They looked fit to me.  I mean,  you do all that walking around lugging a bible or whatever,  you have to have a bit of stamina.  Don't you think?


All I know is, I've certainly never shown up at some stranger's door *uninvited*  and asked if we could "chat".   Like,  what are you thinking?

I realise that,  back in the Depression,  when men were truly down and out,  they might show up at a stranger's door asking if there might be a little food to spare,  but times have changed.  And those interlopers across the road look pretty healthy.

I think I'm getting off on a bit of a rant here,  so you can fill in the rest.  Or join in,  if you wish.

I suspect that's it.

Thanks for stopping by.

Here's hoping for a bit of cooler weather.

Best adapted foot massage.

Hm. Started writing this yesterday.  Guess I got distracted?

Sounds like a perfectly acceptable Oscar category.   Right up there with Best Catering Service.  I mean,  why not?  Not that it would make watching the Oscars any less painful mind you.
We tuned in a bit late,  so when Kimmel talked about the Jet-Ski,  I thought he was just kidding. I mean,  some of the people getting their trophies do tend to go on and on.  What do your kids have to do with it?  Really.  Especially for the guys.  I mean,  whoever had the child might be able to better feel the pain of making a movie?  I dunno. 
Think about it,  you're receiving an award for getting to do what you love and make bags of money.
I did think the "trophy" for having the shortest acceptance speech was kinda brilliant though.   When they showed the Dude on his new Jet-Ski at the end,  it did make the whole ordeal kind of worthwhile,  at least for me anyway.


So by now you've no doubt guessed that T.C. and I stayed up to watch the entire (painful, on my part) program on Sunday night.  At one point at around "Best Headband Worn by a Busboy",  T.C. admitted that she was bored.  I offered that I had been bored for what seemed like hours up until that point.

Not my idea of "what to watch" on a Sunday night.  There was an interesting thing on TVO (our provincial version of public television)  having to do with the history of railways in the UK which I thought would have been far more interesting.   But hey,  I'm a documentary kind of guy,  whereas T.C. would be quite happy to watch "The Voice".  Makes my skin crawl....


Anyhoo,  we had the fireplace going full bore which was pretty nice,  with the slight issue being that,  when we finally made our way upstairs,  we discovered that it was just a wee bit cool,  as of course the boiler had been tricked into thinking that the house was quite warm enough.  I prefer it a bit cooler for sleeping though.

Speaking of the fireplace however,  I've had a screen/enclosure type of thing on the front of the firebox for more years than I'd care to admit,  and at one point when I was shoving more wood in,  the metal chain curtain thingy sort of started drooping.  No bueno.

Took it apart yesterday and had a look.  Easy to fix, as the thing is held up by little metal rings, which had simply come undone.  I would have taken a picture,  but as I had to feel in around there at one point with my bare hands,  they were so black I wouldn't have dared touch anything, let alone a camera.

Looks pretty nasty in there I realise,  but it is a fireplace after all.  One of these days (years?)  I'll put in some sort of insert to get more heat coming out into the room,  as opposed to up the chimney.
Of course,  I'll have to extend the "hearth"  out to the proper depth,  which will involve slicing out a chunk of the flooring and pouring some sort of pad.  I have a bunch of slate stored out in the shed that I removed from the upstairs fireplace that I might use.  We'll see.

Meanwhile,  I've painted a section of the garage floor, after giving it a good scrubbing,  and have started to move the bench back.

I forgot just how uneven the floor is right there.  And I stupidly threw out the little bits of wood I had had under the feet to level it up. 

Not a big deal really.  Just meant having to rummage around for more bits of wood is all.    The blue closed cell mat there is for my poor old knees.

We had a little bit of an internet issue this morning and I had only come in here to see if it was up and running again.  Somebody must have tripped over an extension cord I guess.  Can't see why else it would randomly crap out at nine thirty in the morning.  We've had issues with squirrels chewing on the cable in the past,  but I guess that wasn't the case this time.

Who knows?



That'll be it for a time.

Thanks for moving your eyes back and forth.

Keep your stick on the ice.

Slightly off my rocker.

Things are moving along (slowly) in the bathroom department,  and that is going to be the theme of the day.
Nothing to do with the inauguration,  by the way.   Which I will not watch.  Didn't watch the last one,  but that was likely as I was at work at the time.   Pardon the language.

Anyway,  my shower pan is in,  the drain is hooked up and working as it should,  and now I'm shimming out the wonky studs to try and get some semblance of straightness to the backer board.
It's a whole bunch of fun.  Let me tell ya.

Of course,  as I'm muddling along,  from time to time the phone rings.
Now,  normally I can tell who it might be due to that wonderful thing that we now take for granted called "call display".
Love it!
Had a nice chat with Daughter Number Two yesterday for example.  Her number comes up as "Kat". That's because,  that's what I put in there.   I mean,  not that I'd do this,  but I guess one could put in any name with a number.  Like,  "goofy brother"  or some such thing.
Probably not the best idea.

So there was one call this morning that we chose to ignore.  No message,  so they were of no significance.   Then T.C. went out shopping as she does most every Friday morning,  and at some point after she was gone (and could answer or ignore the phone)  it rang again.

A '208' number.

For anyone around these parts who has acquired a cell phone in the last few years,  all the regular extension combinations have been depleted,  so now instead of '905',  we're on to '208'.   And there was no name.  Just a number.  I almost didn't answer,  but then thought,  "what if it's someone whom I know, but just not in my list of folks who normally call?"
In hindsight,  pretty far fetched, so I should have ignored it.

Of course,  the first hint is,  there's a bit of a delay,  and that's your first clue.  Right there is an opportunity to hang up.  But no,  I was curious.   I was just in the kitchen at the time waiting for my toast to pop,  and figured,  "What the hell."

Here's the gist of the conversation:  "Hello,  my name is Larry,  and we're doing a survey in the area of shopping preferences."   First of all,  the good news was,  "Larry" could actually speak English.   So I was *slightly* intrigued,  but only slightly.
So this was my response.  "Oh jeez Larry,  I'm sorry,  but I'm right in the middle of going to the bathroom,  so I can't really stay on the phone."   To which "Larry", undaunted,  says,  "Well,  is there a better time when I could call back?"  And I'm thinking, "when hell freezes over?"   But instead,  I proceeded to make the appropriate  (well,  inappropriate really,  depending on the circumstances)  grunting and peckin' and snortin' noises and hung up the phone.  Like,  try to imagine crapping a Buick.

Like that.

*Snort*!

Was that bad?

I don't know if "Larry" will ever call back,  bless his heart,  but I've been chuckling about this ever since.

Ah, the plight of the simple minded.

Thought I share.

Oh and,  I actually do know a Larry,  and he's retired from the food business.   Oh wait a minute! Could it be?  I'll check with his wife,  whom I see from time to time during out Wednesday morning breakfasts with the "Breakfast Babes".

I don't think it was the real Larry though,  as the real Larry is comfortably retired, and not about to be calling around the neighbourhood,  but this'll make for gales of laughter next Wednesday I would image.

Enjoy that inauguration all you fine folks south of the 49th.   It's going to be "interesting".  That's the only prognostication that I have.

Keep your stick on the ice.

Enjoy the weekend.  "Every day is Saturday",  as I like to say.

Thanks for stopping by.

It's Spring!

Or at least,  that’s the theory.  It’s a bright sunny day,  but it’s still a wee bit too cold out for my liking.  But at least the birds are out and about.  And the squirrels are squirrelly.  I think that means there’s going to be more squirrels.  We don’t need more squirrels,  but I suppose the coyotes don’t mind.

Of course,  since there’s not always a lot on TV that can manage to keep our interest,  one or the other of us typically has a “Gladys Kravitz”  moment,  when we look out and wonder what the heck the neighbour across the way is up to. 
At least I don’t get called Abner.


Or maybe it was “Abnah!”

And no,  neither of us shove our face right up against the window.  Let’s try to be subtle,  shall we?
Mind you,  after several attempts,  I did manage to take something resembling a picture.

Still haven’t quite figured out that camera.  And I might never.   Tried getting closer to the window to lop off the reflection on the right there,  but do you think it would focus on anything other than….nothing? 

Couldn’t figure out what he was doing with the big assed trailer either.  He had it on the street,  and then in the driveway,  and then on the street,  and then he left.   Maybe he was threatening to move out?  
The “lady of the house”  doesn’t seem to be overly ….ambitious.
But hey,  what do I know?  
Maybe he was doing a dry run. 

So,  last week,  right after we did that whole “spring ahead” time change,  it struck me at around noon time that the Generator had failed to start up and do it’s weekly test run.   Then of course,  I remembered that we had set the clocks ahead,  and so now it comes on at 1:00 instead of noon.  And no,  I’m certainly not going to try and figure out how to change it back,  since it matters not a damn to me when it comes on,  as long as it does. 
Have you exercised your generator lately?

 And why is “Daylight Savings Time” still a thing?  I don’t see the point.  And I’m sure if you asked any bureaucrat or politico or whomever,  they couldn’t tell you either. 
Germany and Austria-Hungary first started it on April 30, 1916,  but the subject is too long and convoluted to even give it a second thought.  One theory these days is that it “saves energy”,  but I read somewhere that that one was shot full of holes as well.

It’s a reminder to at least check or change the batteries in your various detectors. 

So it serves at least that purpose.

Our internet has been somewhat pitiful here at the Ponderosa for about three days now,  and I finally had had enough last night and called the tech folks at our ISP.   After some pinging,  or some such thing,  there was the realisation that yes,  there is something not quite right,  and it has nothing to do with our equipment.

Thankfully it wasn't a video call (wouldn't have had the bandwidth for that anyway) so the tech couldn't see me roll my eyes.
I was pleasant and all that,  so don't be thinking I was my usual ornery self.


Coincidently,  and this was after I got off the phone and announced to T.C. that I had them take 20 bucks off our bill,  she said that there had been a cable guy around a few days back,  right around the time that the signal started to get wonky.
Seems a bit fishy.  Think maybe he buggered something up?  
Wouldn't be the first time.
But,  any time there's any issue *whatsover*,   I always go after them to credit our bill.

 Not paying for crap.

And,  even though there are these issues from time to time,  one of the reasons that I don't jump ship and go with someone like say,  Bell,  is simply because I can; A) get through to someone on the phone,  and; B) get some resolution to the problem.  Most times with a credit to our bill.

Try that will Bell,  and good luck.

It’s been a few years since we no longer have anything to do with Bell Canada,  and one of the reasons is that they simply had the worst customer service that one could possibly imagine.  I suspect it hasn’t changed much.

Anyway,  that's today's little missive.  

Thanks for stopping by.

The jury is out.

Well,  there has been some “fun” over the last few days with car issues.  I really and truly think there wouldn’t have been any problems at all if we had stayed completely clear of the GM dealership here in town and simply ignored the dire warnings having to do with the THREE recalls on my daughter’s Saturn.  

Oh,  and there used to be a joke that Saturn stood for “Supposedly American, though unfortunately really Nissan.”   Too bad that wasn’t really the case.  But let’s not get all the die hard GM fans worked up into a lather. 

One of the recalls had to do with some sort of potentially dangerous situation with the steering/ignition assembly,  and apparently people have died when their cars have suddenly quit working and flown off the road. Something to that effect.

So fine,  don’t really want my kid ending up dead at the side of the road,  so we took it to the Stealership.

And,  this is how it looked the next day.

 

Such a great way to spend my Friday morning. 

Not.

Something up with that steering alright.   Too bad it was working just fine until the dealer…er,  Stealership got a hold of it.

Naturally,  (in keeping with their Corporate Culture)  the Service Manager didn’t think the coffee grinder kind of noise it was making every time the steering wheel was turned had ANY thing to do with their fine outstanding work,  so I naturally had it taken to a mechanic I could trust.

I mean,  why would I take it back to them??

 

Little plug here:

Took it to these guys.  SWC Automotive.   Highly recommended.

They’ve done service work on the Merc.  Didn’t take all day,  like the Mercedes Stealership,  and the bill was about a third of what it would have been had I gone there.

But I digress.

 

So sure enough,  here’s the part they replaced under the recall.

And it is indeed “to do with the power steering”.  It’s not supposed to do this:

 

Oops.

I think that shaft needs to be a little beefier.  D’ya think?

That’s what was making that coffee grinder noise.  It was the motor trying to spin the shaft.

So I paid a little visit to the Stealership this morning with their part in a box,  and the invoice that I had to take care of on Saturday.  Good thing the boys at SWC were willing to sort it out on Saturday.  Otherwise I’d be doing some chauffeuring,  or there would be a whole lot of scrambling for rides.

 

Anyway,  we’ll see what comes of it.  I’m certainly not going to try and tell them how to run their little empire. 

Oh and look,  let’s all “Buy American”.    Seems that “American” is spelled,  “JAPAN”.  

Wasn’t when I went to school.  Some sort of new spelling.

 

Stay tuned.

So much for that trend.

There’s that moment when you’ve said something,  and you then later regret it ever having passed your lips?  I don’t mean saying something nasty to someone.  I’ve tried to curtail that sort of thing over the last say, couple decades.

Otherwise there’s the “post visit debriefing”.  No guy likes one of those.  You know,  when the conversation starts out with, “You shouldn’t have said….(fill in the blank).”

No, I’m talking about saying things like,  “Well, I sure don’t mind that there’s been no snow so far this winter.”  “Nyuk nyuk.”

Feeling all smug.

That kind of thing.  Best to just shut up and move on.

It’s almost like “jinxing” it.  Or at least that’s what it feels like.  I know for sure that we never comment on how “well” we’re doing when on the race course.  That’s an absolute no-no.  There’s the sense that,  just as soon as you say something to that effect,  the head sail will totally rip right in half.  Or something equality terrifying and/or game ending will take place. 

Curious bit of human behaviour, yes?

 

Anyway,  we’re getting it.

And we’re only on the very edge.  This is just Lake Effect stuff.

 

There was just a light dusting earlier this morning,  which is why we figured the cleaning lady (don’t like that term, but there it is) would certainly be on her way.  

She didn’t make it.  Comes in from Hamilton.  There was no snow there.  There’s no snow just to the East of us.  We just happen to be right in its path.

Swell.

 

Of course,  we didn’t know that earlier this morning,  and since neither of us like to be here when she’s here doing her thing, we opted to go out for breakfast.

Actually,  Travelling Companion figured she’d hide out in her sewing room,  but then remembered that she had a conference call at 10:00 a.m.   So fine,  after breakfast I dropped her off at The Company that Cannot be Named.

For breakfast, we thought we’d get away from the usual fare of eggs in some form or other,  and decided to have pancakes.

.

OK,  this is the amount of pancakes we had left over AFTER we had had our fill.

When our server brought them out,  neither of us quite knew what to say.  Was the cook using up the batter?  Was it because I had said that whoever was on the grill on Mondays was maybe using a little too much oil?  This is my regular Wednesday morning place of breakfast,  so I’m not going to not say something, but that was the other reason we thought we’d shy away from eggs.  Last time we were there on a Monday,  our cheese omelettes were a wee bit too greasy.  

I’ve never been one to turn away food,  or complain about getting too much.  I mean,  who does that?  Are ya mental?

Besides,  yer payin’ for it Dummy,  just take it home.

So fine,  I had a couple more pancakes when I got home at around 11:00.   Only this time with real maple syrup. We were given Aunt Jemima to put on our pancakes.  Meh, no big deal, but there is certainly a big difference between actual maple syrup and Aunt Jemima.  Sorry for those of you who think there’s some possible similarity,  but you’re just wrong.

The bottle had the modern version of Aunt Jemima and everything.

 

 

I couldn’t seem to find a decent image to pilfer.  She doesn’t wear the dew rag anymore. Did you know that?

Too offensive? 

Just needed a make-over?

 

When you see some of the older renditions, that’s when you really start to feel yourself make that painful face.

 

Oh dear. 

Sad to say,  my dear ole Pappy could do a pretty good imitation of someone with those particular qualifications (I’m treading on thin ice here).  Shall we say, grammar skills? 

I would just cringe whenever he’d start to imitate what he considered to be a perfect rendition of a “person of colour”. 

Different generation. 

Different…moral compass?

Probably why he really got a kick out of All in the Family.  I felt sorry for Edith.  And Meathead. 

I do realise that it was a show to poke fun at the likes of Archie Bunker,  but I’m afraid that message went right over the head of many viewers.  Including my dear ole Pappy.   Poor sap.  

 

Anyway,  let’s not get all maudlin.  Or sentimental.  The snowstorm could be depressing enough.  

See what I did there?  It’s a depression?  Huh huh?

 

 

OK I’ll stop now.

 

Keep your powder dry.

 

Thanks for looking.

We’re back to this I see.

And I’m not talking about the temperature.  It’s still cold.  I’ll suck it up.

I *tried* to get down to the lake early enough to capture the sun as it was still closer to the horizon,  something I had seen after taking Travelling Companion up to the Company that Cannot be Named.    The sunrise was quite nice.  I missed it.

No matter how expeditiously I hustled,  the sun was already fairly high in the sky.  I normally have motivational issues (read: I’m lazy) when it comes to getting myself down there at the crack of dawn for what could possibly be a spectacular sunrise,  this will have to do.

 

One of these days I just might make the effort.  Or not.

Don’t hold your breath.

No,  what I’m referring to is the ongoing inability of the mail carrier type folks to actually read the numbers on a piece of mail and drop it off at the correct location. 

At some point in mid 2013 (it was warm weather is all I remember) I managed to catch the mailman just after he had dropped off the wrong mail.  He was opening the green mail-drop-off box thingy out at the corner here,  and I handed him his offering,  at which point he intimated that this was some sort of rare occurrence. I don’t remember his exact words.

Really? That wasn’t going to fly.

MY exact words I do remember. 

“Oh no,  this has been going on for twenty years.  And poor old ‘Mr. X’  (he’ll remain anonymous for the sake of this little diatribe) is getting too old to delivery my mail to me.  And I’m getting tired of dropping off his.”

Mail person Dude didn’t have much to say, except “oh”.

What can you say, “Er um,  I guess I’m dyslexic?”

Either that or they sort the mail in the dark.  I’m not sure.  Actually,  it’s just off by one number.  We’re 5383.  It needs to go to 5483,  *sigh*

After that little confrontation, we’ve had a pretty good run of a couple years of correct mail delivery.  It seems the run is over.

The “Woman’s Day” was today’s first clue.  And I haven’t received anything from The Publishers Clearing House in like….forever.  Thankfully.

Nor do I particularly want to start getting anything from them.  Because then it never stops.  Kind of like the calls from The Clothesline, who call us up way too often looking for used clothing.  They must think we go out every single month and replace our entire wardrobe.  I don’t get it.  On the one hand,  I don’t mind helping out,  but could you give me maybe six months or so?  Maybe then I could come up with something.  Honestly.

 

So I guess I’ll be taking a drive by “Mr. X’s” house when I go out to pick up T.C. 

And they wonder why folks are using less and less snail mail.

I also wonder what mail he has of ours. 

 

Guess we’ll find out.

 

Sticks.  Ice. 

You know.

 

Thanks for lookin’.

 

And yes,  there really IS a big NFL Picks Wheel in the basement.  I lied yesterday. 

No really.