Now that I've finished painting myself Morning Shade Blue, I'm going to continue the attempt to put some of that paint on the bathroom walls. I appreciate people who do this professionally a lot more than I did yesterday.
My 1994 Ford Tempo (I just can't give it up ... runs like a charm and is paid for) is beginning to feel its age. I was informed by the mechanic at BP on Lilly and Capital that it was likely that the shoulder seatbelt gizmo had probably slipped a gear. He said it would cost $200-300 to have it repaired.
Now, everytime I open or close the door, this awful, loud, gurgling sound crows from the side. Of course, the seat belt doesn't budge.
The sound eventually dies off so I'm not stuck driving down the road. People might think I was listening to a new form of music, or Gregorian Chants (sorry dad29 ... just a joke). Actually, I like Gregorian Chants. My father was in the seminary for five years and brought that love of his along with a severely conservative view of life to our family. He also told the best dinnertime jokes.
That causes me to recall sitting at the dinner table one evening when Dad suddenly asked everyone to be quiet, and then asked if someone could explain why there were apple peelings stuck to the wall at its juncture with the ceiling. No one had a clue.
Well ... I did. It was a result of the one and only party that I ever held when the parents were gone. My friend Craig thought it would be funny to toss the pot of cold coffee my way, so I started pelting him with apples. Soon everyone joined in.
That was 30 years ago approximately. Damn.
Baby is still cooking well in the mommy tummy. Heard some news that due to Kelly's advanced age (for having children) a recent blood test said that the chance for a Down Syndrome child was slightly higher. We had already made the decision that regardless of what genetic tests might reveal, we would continue the pregnancy ... unless, of course, harm would come to Kelly.
Still, for the child's sake, we continue to hope for the best. We will love the child regardless.
Oh, I really enjoy reading other blogs and finding new ways to say things. Rick Esenberg, at Shark and Shepherd, has come up with one ... Gumpian ... referring to someone imitating Forrest Gump's ability to be where the action is. Good one!
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Seems to me that your father TRIED hard.
ReplyDeleteTell him it's not his fault that you wound up as a LibWacko. He'll need to hear that often.
Now, now. He would not like you calling his son names. And, he's a Marine.
ReplyDeleteIf 29 is the year you were born (just guessing), then he's got you by a couple.
No--"29" is far more significant than that. Try reading the whole thing this way: Dad 2 9.
ReplyDeleteI'd be happy to meet with him to discuss your wayward-ness. We'll likely agree and have several adult beverages to celebrate our agreement--and to continue talking about a rehab program for you.
Of course, the entire party will be on YOUR bar-tab.
I suspect he would enjoy the conversation. Has far as my waywardness and a rehab program ... too late. However, I would not be unhappy to buy.
ReplyDeleteSo, after nine you turn into a growly old coot?