Cathy in the Wright

S.O.S.

Or Mom Throws In The White Towel

I give up. Or, more accurately, I gave up. Both boys have driven me crazy. I have held approximately two hundred and fifty conversations today that followed like the one below:

Senator, please don't poke your brother.

*poke*

Senator! Didn't I just tell you not to poke The Governor?

Yes.

Well then why did you do it?

silence

Well?!

I'm thinking! I'm thinking!

The first fifty times I held on to my temper and spoke with a measure of calmness. When I hit seventy-five, I got snippy. At 109 I started yelling. At 148 I was too hoarse to yell and started hitting my hands together like the pornography hustlers on the Vegas strip. At 226 I thought I had hit on a winner because I scared them when I flopped on the sofa and held my head with both hands and moaned. It took them half a minute to determine there was no real damage done, and so I was back to gesturing wildly at 227. The rest are a blur, although I believe The Senator was keeping track because he told his brother, "Pretty soon we'll get to watch cartoons."

And he was right. Currently, Woody Woodpecker is amusing the both of them, and I am in here trying not to weep openly and blame my husband because they were HIS lousy Y chromosomes. We could have had sweet little girls....but no.

Dog Day

My brother's former girlfriend just opened a new business: Downtown Dogs Day Care. If any of you readers work or live around downtown Minneapolis and hate leaving your pooch alone all day...here's the answer. And no one better to spoil your pet than Anne; she's an animal-lover extraordinaire. Here's a story from the downtown's Skyway News.

And speaking of dogs, today was another nursing home Tuesday for me and Hoocher. We spent a lot of time today with Rosie. Visiting with Rosie is interesting. She loves Hoocher and talks to him much as one would coo at a baby.

Ooh, aren't you a good boy. So cute.

And so on. But when she talks to me...

Can you hour seven do when not late...Where does see that might move yesterday....

Of course I respond to her, but it strains the mind. Do you try and speak rationally or answer in kind? Not that it matters any to Rosie. But it's a bit embarrassing to answer her with similar nonsense and have one of the housekeeping aides walk in during one of these "conversations."

And since I'm on the subject of dogs...just a brief update on old 3-legger. She's doing great. Still no new symptoms of the cancer...I'm glad she made it long enough to see the arrival of spring. Hopefully we'll all enjoy one more great summer together.

Hope you all are also enjoying your week.

What I Did This Summer or Nightmare on I35

My cousin is getting married this summer and The VP and I are going to be driving to Wichita with both boys. We were thinking of doing something a bit more relaxing for our summer vacation...perhaps dental camp or donkey rides through the Great Plains Mine Field. But family weddings only come around so often, so we will be driving to Wichita.

I'm trying to break up the trip into two parts and stop somewhere overnight in Iowa or Missouri. I've been looking at hotels and motels on the Internet. Most of the web sites give lots of information, but here's a few things I'd like to see them include:

How often are the police called to deal with disturbances at your inn?

Any biker conventions happening during my stay?

Any jails, prisons, half-way houses, or Wal-Marts within 10 miles of your facility?

Do you keep the local bug exterminator in business?

Can I smell the guests in the next room when they smoke?

Can I hear the guests in the next room when they smoke?

The picture on your web site showed a vast field behind your motel. Do traintracks also run through this field?

Does the Department of Health inspector give you volume discounts on your fines?

You say the daily paper will be at my door each morning. How about Jehovah's Witnesses?

I'd stay in a cardboard box if I knew it was safe, clean, and my rest would be free from disturbances. I've got The Governor to take care of that last requirement.

Uh-Oh

Yesterday my grandmother called to say hello. At the end of the conversation, she mentioned that she has started reading this site. Apparently, last time my folks were visiting, my dad must have bookmarked Cathy in the Wright on their computer.

And I just went and posted a joke with the word "screwing" in it. Swell. Grandma's going to be so proud of me.

Did I mention she's a staunch Democrat also?

The family reunion this August might get a bit interesting.

Weekend Humor

I stole this joke from Ross. I was just going to link to it, but since Ross has Blog*Spot...links aren't always reliable. I'm really sorry I couldn't throw Ross a link because I really like his blog: Three Sheets to the Wind. So if you get a chance, go over to his site and say hi. Ross says:

MOST OF THE TIME I don't think forwarded e-mail jokes are funny but this one got me to smile:

Mr. John Hinckley
St. Elizabeth's Hospital
Washington, DC

Dear John:
Laura and I hope that you are continuing your excellent progress in recovery from your mental problems. We were pleased to hear that you are now able to have unsupervised visits with your parents. The staff at the hospital reports that you are doing fine.

I have decided to seek a second term in office as your President and I would appreciate your support and the support of your fine parents. I would hope that if there is anything that you need at the hospital, you will let us know.

By the way, were you aware that John Kerry is screwing Jody Foster?

Sincerely,
George W. Bush

School on Saturday?!

Erudite reader Aelfheld sent me an email containing the following. Since the IRS is rattling their tin cups on the bars, reminding us that 4/15 is right around the corner, I thought Aelfheld's information couldn't have come at a better time.

While you're watching the political commercials and
listening to the politicians spin their web around
unsuspecting and misinformed people . . . a "Reality"
lesson in economics.

Top 1% earn 21% of all income pay 37-1/2% of all taxes
Top 5% earn 35% of all income pay 56-1/2% of all taxes
Top 10% earn 46% of all income pay 67% of all taxes
Top 25% pay 84% of all taxes
Top 50% pay 96-1/2% of all taxes
Bottom 50% pay 3-1/2% of all taxes

Just in case you are not completely clear on this
issue, we hope the following will help:

Tax Cuts - A Simple Lesson In Economics

This is how the cookie crumbles. Please read it
carefully.

Let's put tax cuts in terms everyone can understand.
Suppose that every day, ten people go out for dinner.
The bill for all ten comes to $100. If they paid their
bill the way we pay our taxes, it would go something
like this:

The first four people (the poorest) would pay nothing.
The fifth would pay $1.
The sixth would pay $3.
The seventh $7.
The eighth $12.
The ninth $18.
The tenth person (the richest) would pay $59.

So, that's what they decided to do. The ten people ate
dinner in the restaurant every day and seemed quite
happy with the arrangement, until one day, the owner
threw them a curve. "Since you are all such good
customers," he said, "I'm going to reduce the cost of
your daily meal by $20."

So, now dinner for the ten only cost $80. The group
still wanted to pay their bill the way we pay our
taxes. So, the first four people were unaffected.
They would still eat for free. But what about the
other six, the paying customers? How could they divvy
up the $20 windfall so that everyone would get his
'fair share'?

The six people realized that $20 divided by six is
$3.33. But if they subtracted that from everybody's
share, then the fifth person and the sixth person
would each end up being 'PAID' to eat their meal. So,
the restaurant owner suggested that it would be fair
to reduce each person's bill by roughly the same
amount, and he proceeded to work out the amounts each
should pay.

And so:

The fifth person, like the first four, now paid
nothing (100% savings).
The sixth now paid $2 instead of $3 (33% savings).
The seventh now paid $5 instead of $7 (28% savings).
The eighth now paid $9 instead of $12 (25% savings).
The ninth now paid $14 instead of $18 paid (22%
savings).
The tenth now paid $49 instead of $59 (16% savings).

Each of the six was better off than before. And the
first four continued to eat for free. But once outside
the restaurant, the people began to compare their
savings.

"I only got a dollar out of the $20," declared the
sixth person. He pointed to the tenth person "but he
got $10!"

"Yeah, that's right," exclaimed the fifth person. "I
only saved a dollar, too. It's unfair that he got ten
times more than me!"

"That's true!!" shouted the seventh person. "Why
should he get $10 back when I got only $2? The
wealthy get all the breaks!"

"Wait a minute," yelled the first four people in
unison. "We didn't get anything at all. The system
exploits the poor!"

The nine people surrounded the tenth and beat him up.

The next night the tenth person didn't show up for
dinner, so the nine sat down and ate without him. But
when it came time to pay the bill, they discovered
something important. They didn't have enough money
between all of them for even half of the bill!

And that, boys and girls, journalists and college
professors, is how our tax system works. The people
who pay the highest taxes get the most benefit from a
tax reduction. Tax them too much, attack them for
being wealthy, and they just may not show up at the
table anymore.

There are lots of good restaurants in Europe and the
Caribbean.

The Outpost on a Rainy Day

Nothing says SPRING like a good rainstorm, huh? The dull gray landscape is now a dirty, muddy, dull landscape. I need green. Anything. Grass, leaves, moldy bread. Anything.

The Senator has one of his preschool buddies over right now. They have been non-stop motion for the past two hours. I almost get exhausted watching them, although it really has been a low maintenance afternoon. I turned them loose with a bucket of cars, all the sofa cushions, and a couple of light sabers. So far the only other thing I've had to do is set out some juice boxes and snacks. This is so easy. And to think just yesterday at the eye doctor's office I was envying all the other parents with their quiet, placid little girls who were reading books and not tearing display frames off the racks or trying to call Nana on the waiting-room telephone or pounding the fishtank glass and sending Nemo belly-up from shock.

Tomorrow I'm taking a tour of the St. John's University Old Library. I love stuff like this. Hard to believe, isn't it? The P.Hilton-wannabe you've come to know and love here at Cathy in the Wright is looking forward to spending an entire morning gaping at rare old books and manuscripts. I used to really enjoy it out in Boston, where I'd spend a couple of hours in the Athenaeum, ignoring all those pesky "Members Only Beyond This Point" signs and thumbing through first edition books that nearly fell apart in my fingers.

For those of you worried about this drastic change in character, perhaps I can redeem myself by letting you know there will be a wine-tasting party afterwards. Sound too demure? It won't be with the crowd I'll be running with tomorrow.

(The Senator and his friend are now using the cars to drive over and squish Asian beetles. I LOVE these boys!)

Hope you all have a wonderful weekend!

Midwest Haute Cuisine

Mark Hasty gives the rest of the country a peek at what they're missing. Be sure to have a pen handy to copy down his elaborate recipe. It's a lot less complicated that it first appears.

Thanks also, Mark, for the tip about Windex and the Asian beetles. I'm going to give it a try today. They seem to have declared a jihad on my house. Whether it's the warm temperatures bringing them out, or my horrid poetry, I'm not sure. But they're looking to take over The Outpost.

Conservative Joke of the Day

My mother-in-law forwarded this. I know you'll enjoy it.

While suturing a laceration on the hand of a 70-year-old Texas rancher whose hand had caught in a gate while working cattle, a doctor and the old man were talking about John Kerry wanting to be in the White House.

The old Texan said, "Well, ya know, Kerry is a 'post turtle'." Not knowing what the old man meant, the doctor asked him what a post turtle was.

The old man said, "When you're driving down a country road and you come across a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that's a post turtle." The old man saw a puzzled look on the doctor's face, so he continued to explain, "You know he didn't get there by himself, he doesn't belong there, he can't get anything done while he's up there, and you just want to help the poor stupid bastard get down."

Good Morning

Great soccer game last night, although I had a collision with a guy who sports the boniest knees ever and now I feel as though someone did a Kerrigan-Hardy maneuver below my right kneecap. Thanks, Rick.

While I was laying awake in pain last night, distraught over my chances of making the Olympics, I thought about these horrid Asian beetles that have taken over the house. I composed the following haiku:

Damn Asian beetles
Perish in Hoover's dust bag.
Choke, suffocate, die.

I'm sure the Poet Laureate Committee will be sending the nomination letter any day now.

On a happier note...I should hit the 10,000 visitors mark today! Cool! Visitor 10,000 can expect bells, whistles, streamers, and Ed McMahon jumping out of the monitor with a big sloppy kiss.

Have a great day.

Miscellaneous

I had a few spam comments this morning, and I got careless with the delete button and got rid of a couple of real comments. I think there was one from Michele about my shampoo and another one from Dan about the Senator's good buddy, Josh. I'm very sorry, and I'd love to hear from you again; I couldn't figure out how to undo my deletes.

The Governor ate his first piece of dog food today. He didn't like it.

Went to Camp Snoop at the Mall of America yesterday. The trip went very well considering the huge crowds and The Governor's attention span. My sister, brother-in-law, and niece went along too and they made the trip a lot of fun for both boys. When The Governor had a melt down at nap time, The VP and I headed home. The Senator got to stay with my sister and her family and she managed to get him on the roller coaster. I couldn't believe my ears. The Senator has a very high regard for personal safety and comfort, and the roller coaster is the last ride I would have expected him to attempt. He declared it was too scary and he won't go again. That he even got on the ride gives me a small comfort that he might move out of the house by the time he's 30.

Asian lady beetles are out in full force. I hate them. I love my Dust Buster.

Oh yeah, and I forgot to tell you all about how I got pulled over last Monday night. I was recklessly speeding around Buffalo Lake on a deserted lakeshore drive (42 in a 30 zone) after my soccer game. It was around 11:30 p.m. and no one was around...except Officer L.

I was in a great mood, but I was sweaty and dirty and smelled like a locker room. Too bad I couldn't get pulled over when I have just come from the salon. Oh well. So Officer L. approaches the car. He's a fatherly sort of character who starts chatting with me about features of our Trailblazer (he drives an Envoy) and he gets around to asking me where I was coming from.

Soccer game. I play in a league in Plymouth.

Oh yeah? My kid plays soccer too.

YEEEEEEEEEESSSSS!!!!! So I start asking him about his kid and we're laughing and talking and he says he'll be right back. He returns to his car and I wait. And wait. And wait. And now I'm thinking, "Sh*t. I'm getting a ticket after all."

Officer L. comes walking back to my window...paper in hand. D*mn!

He says, "This is a warning. One per customer. Next time it's a ticket. I suggest you tape it to your visor to remind you not to speed." And he put a yellow, smiley-face sticker at the bottom of my warning. What a great guy.

So gals...just remember...hiking up your skirt and unbuttoning the blouse aren't the only ways to charm your way out of a ticket. Nothing like some sweat and sports talk to keep your driving record spotless.

The Senator's Press Secretary

The Senator got a stuffed animal for Christmas. It's a beaver. He played with it a bit Christmas morning, and I assumed that this creature would go the way of all the other stuffed animals; The Bin of Little Used Toys. Goodwill fodder.

Nope. This beaver is different. He's the first stuffed animal to have a name. It's Josh.

Josh has taken control of The Senator's life. We do not make a move around here without consulting Josh.

Senator, what would you like for breakfast?

I don't know. Let's ask Josh. Josh says pancakes.

That's just a small sample. We consult Josh as to what clothes to wear, what video to watch, what books to read, and what would be a reasonable bedtime. Josh is often overruled, but always consulted. We bring Josh on walks, to the grocery store, and to school. He has to stay in the car sometimes, much against The Senator's (and Josh's) wishes, but I have repeatedly explained the dangers of bringing a beaver into public places. You never know when Josh might mistake someone's leg for a sapling.

Today The Senator's grandparents took him swimming. Josh was all set to go along for the excursion. I told The Senator that Josh needed to stay home. He wasn't too happy about that until I explained that beavers are highly sensitive to chlorine and he might break out in a rash. I think I also promised to give Josh a snack and let him watch Tom and Jerry cartoons.

The worst part of it..."Mom, you forgot to say 'Good-night' to Josh."

I can't tell you how ridiculous I feel talking to a stuffed, buck-toothed rodent. My life has turned into a Minnesota version of Calvin and Hobbes.

Separated At Birth

You've seen the side by side photos of John Kerry and Gomer Pyle? Go here to see the real story of John Kerry's missing twin.

Another great post, Jeff!

I Can't Wait For The T-Shirts

No Pregnant Chads Here

My friend Margaret forwards the solution to avoiding another recount disaster:

California might want to look into adopting these machines as well if they're really going to let 14 year olds vote.

I Guess We Can't Go To The Outback Steakhouse Tonight

When I was at the salon last week, I bought some shampoo. Normally, I buy whatever Target has on sale, but since someone else was treating (very generous gift card from my co-workers), I splurged on a bottle of Aveda Blue Malva because it smells great.

So this morning in the shower I lathered up and let the suds sit on my head for several minutes. Mmmmm. While I was enjoying my fragrant, soapy head, I grabbed the bottle to see if I could pinpoint just what ingredient makes the stuff smell so good.

I never made it to the ingredient list.

I was stunned by the first line on the back of the bottle:

Aveda Blue Malva Shampoo neutralizes brassy tones in all shades of hair and adds silvery brightness to grey hair.

What.The.Hell! What marketing genuis thought that emphasizing my grey hair was a selling point? That line should have been printed on the front in bold letters as a warning. I'm trying to get rid of my grey hair, not make it stand out like foil icicles glimmering on the Christmas tree.

I can't pour it out; I'm too cheap. But I know some dogs who are going to smell wonderful (and look silvery bright) after their next bath.

One Small Step for Conservatives...

The Minneapolis Star Tribune had a story today about a Minneapolis woman who has held a monthly dinner party for 12 years and is now calling it quits because she's moving. The bulk of the story is rather dull, but here's something that I enjoyed:

She owns a small financial planning company. She said she is moving because she can no longer tolerate the U.S. political climate, or people's unwillingness to speak out against it. She owns an acre on the beach in Costa Rica. She will come back quarterly and during tax season for business.

Apparently she doesn't ever turn on a television or pick up the local paper. Twenty bucks says this woman still has a Wellstone! sticker on the back of her Volvo.

(Sorry - no link to the story. Foul registration process)

Drugs Are Bad...Mmmkay

I think this whole family is headed for the looney bin. Yesterday I was trapped inside by the rain with two sick kids. I decided to vacuum so I wouldn't have to listen to all the whining. The Senator came upstairs, unplugged the vacumm cleaner and told me, "I can't hear myself when I talk to myself, Mom."

He's talking to himself, and The Governor is clinging to my leg to save him from the Teradactyl which hasn't been out of the toybox since Wednesday.

I think I'm going to start taking some of that children's cold medicine...must be some good stuff considering what it's done to the boys.

Gross

One of the other mothers in The Governor's Early Childhood Class challenged me to think up the grossest thing I could. The only stipulation was no violence. No blood and gore.

We had just overheard another parent talking about their kid ripping off a dirty diaper and smearing the contents on the carpet, so I guess 'gross' was on our minds.

I couldn't come up with something right away, but K., if you're reading this, my answer is:

Drinking a gallon of water from the Playboy Mansion Grotto.

Hair Spew

Went to get my hair cut today. My usual stylist wasn't there so I took the first available employee with a pair of shears.

As part of the whole experience at this particular salon, the stylist first massages your head with a lightly scented oil. Ohhhhhhh is that wonderful. The hair cut was tolerable. At the end the gal put some sort of goo in my hair to enhance the tiny bit of natural wave in it, and then proceeded to blow dry it as straight as a board. As I walked up to pay she asked if I needed any styling products or anything else. Baseball cap?

Left the salon and called my friend Susan to come meet me for lunch so she could lie to me and tell me my hair really didn't look quite as bad as I thought. She came through for me, although next time I'm going to pay for her lunch so she'll really elaborate on how nice I look.

I think I would give up hair cuts completely, but having someone rub your temples while a light citrus scent lingers about your head and the white noise of adult chatter drones comfortingly in the background and your children are fifty miles away...well, I'd let someone cut my hair with a butter knife and a razor for that.

Nightmare At The Outpost

We've finally found something The Governor hates more than naps.

It's so cute when he screams in unmitigated terror.

We try not to haul it out every day.

Where Spammers Actually Get Your Address...

I'm pretty sure I stole this off Rodger's site.

Quick check....Yes I did. Thanks, Rodger.

An Apology...Of Sorts

A beloved friend of mine took exception to an earlier post where I maligned and aspersed the character of a fellow teammate. While I have no regrets about writing it, I do feel a tiny bit sad that the post made this friend uncomfortable; he felt the tone was beneath my usual high standards and reflected poorly on me.

In order to take his mind off my lapse from all things civilized, I decided to post about burping. Hope it helps.

Now back to my regularly scheduled Ladies Home Journal-esque pabulum I usually dribble over the screen.

Y Chromosome - The Reason Belching is Uproarious

An old question, but placate me, will you? Someone out there please explain to me what is so innately humorous about burping?

The Governor is not yet two and already rates strong burping as the hallmark of a comedic genuis.

I set him off yesterday when my morning can of Tangerine Diet Rite (bottled, by the way, at it's source on Mount Olympus) initiated a couple of rather forceful reverberations. He laughed so hard I thought he was going to fill his Pampers.

So I took another hard swig and added some impetus as Nature responded.

He filled his pants. Thank you. I'll be here all week.

If only entertaining my adult friends was this easy. Margaret, Susan, Casey - guess what? Next Girls Night Out...what do you say we each down a six pack of soda and have a contest for volume and duration?

An Evening at the Freak League

I will pass over a detailed description of tonight’s game. The other team was down two players and we still only won by a lone goal. Enough said.

I did promise a few vitriolic lines about a new female player on the team, and I shall deliver them but I will assure you first of all that the evening was not a complete disaster. It was salvaged by the appearance of two teammates I hadn’t seen in a while. First was Stan, who is a decent player and who will, should he get called on a foul, shrug it off and get ready for play to continue. This stands in direct contrast to several meatheads on our team who feel the necessity to argue with the ref over each and every transgression.

Cassie was another surprise tonight. She missed a lot of games last session, so it was fun to see her again. She’s not a very talented player, but she’s adorable and cute and sweet and embodies the “try your best and have fun” spirit that more people in this recreational league should emulate.

People like Janelle.

At one point Janelle and I were both on the sidelines and we watched as Cassie missed a fairly easy pass and the ball rolled out of bounds. Janelle muttered, “Oh geez! Come on!”

I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. If I hadn’t done that, I would have been compelled to give Janelle an extremely haughty “Tut-tut” and deliver a severe pot-and-kettle lecture.

Because Janelle sucks.

I know, I know. Suck is an adjective hardly worthy of an English major. Unfortunately, no other word captures Janelle’s lack of talent along with my disgust quite as well as suck. She’s slow. She can’t (or won’t) pass. The idea of dropping back to help out on defense is completely off her radar screen. I have yet to see an opposing player find any difficulties when trying to steal the ball away from her. And she doesn’t like to spend time on the sidelines. None of this would bother me (much) if she didn't take every opportunity to point out everyone else's short-comings. She's not a pleasant person.

Her husband plays on the team as well and is a terrific guy, which gives credence, I guess, to the age old theory that opposites attract.

Enough effort wasted on Janelle. She deserves worse, but I’m in too good a mood. I was listening to my Martini Lounge CD on the way home. You can’t be in a bad mood listening to Dean Martin belt out “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head.”

Next Time...Off With Her Head

It appears that chopping off one leg was not severe enough punishment the first time I caught her digging in the trash...

Old 3-legger has been doing really well. Back to her old self. No new cancer symptoms yet. And she's become a bit of a local celebrity. The Senator had a few friends over the other day, and they all had heard about our three-legged dog and couldn't wait to see her. The Senator even wants to bring her to Show and Tell. Can you just picture the dinner table conversations around town that evening? "Mom, can we get a three-legged dog?" or "Dad, if I cut off Skippy's leg, he'll look just like The Senator's dog!" Can't wait for the phone calls.

Freak League soccer tonight. We have a few new players on the team, and if one particular gal shows up again, I'll have several virulent paragraphs dedicated to her. Thankfully it's an early game; I should have time to spew it all out while it's fresh in my mind.

Can you get a red card for infractions committed against your own team?

Ahhhh...

I'm back.

God this feels good. I nearly had the DTs conquered, too. Good thing The VP finished installing everything last night.

Ahhh. Even the spam attack doesn't bother me.

Where to start, where to start..

I had a lot of great stuff to share about our trip to Vegas but have since forgotten most of it. I did make a determined effort to find an "Internet Cafe" but the over-riding thought process in Las Vegas is that if something keeps people out of the casinos, it's bad. I couldn't locate one. If the 8 year old I saw passing out ads for porn at 1 in the morning would set up a sidewalk connection and charge $0.50/minute, he could probably quadruple his hourly wage and still be in bed at a reasonable hour.

Overall I had a great time and came out pretty even on the gambling. What I won at the slots I promptly frittered away on the ponies. And I feel very sorry for the cocktail waitresses in Caesar's Sports Book. Lousy outfits.

Damn! The Governor is squawking; I was hoping for a few more minutes before I had to deal with him.

Thanks to all who stayed with me during the blackout (Aelfheld, Matthew, Nana, etc.). *sniff* I love you guys.

More later. Oh yes.

The Long Pause

The Chairman’s not back on line, but at least I can explain why. It’s a simple matter of a computer hard drive that went soft. The VP took the computer to town for RX in the form of digital Viagra, or some such. With the mechanical problem fixed, however, there remains an issue of CPU self-esteem. The machine simply lacks confidence to re-connect to the Outpost’s satellite system.

No, I am not spoofing about this hardware's lack of confidence. The poor computer once was exposed to a smidgen of artificial intelligence software and thinks its R2D2 and C3PO (dual processor, you know.) So, have patience, The Chairman will be on line after the computer completes therapy.

As for The Chairman, she’s in town with The Senator and The Governor, who are getting a booster shot of grandparental discipline. For example, the Green Goddess dragged an unwilling Senator to Target. Because of that reluctance, the Senator is going to be forced to walk through the toy department and make a selection or two. That’s tough love, all right, but he’ll come to understand and appreciate what we are sacrificing for him.

Meanwhile, The Governor is down for the long count—a nap that probably will run three hours. (I don’t know what it is about this boy, who definitely has a strong will but—when its nap time—he zonks out as readily as a housecat in a sunspot.)

While The Governor's asleep and everybody else is away, I’m the resident disciplinarian, concentrating on instructional authority. That means—this time—that the cookies are placed where he’ll have to hunt for them, upon waking up.

The dogs are doing very well. Breezy gets around quite handily on her three legs, and Hoocher looks out for her. Let the dogs out and Hoocher bolts through the door. But, then, rembering, he puts on the brakes, looks back and waits for Breezy. She reciprocates by eating Hoocher’s food as well as her own, now that she’s back on her feed.

Aha, the Green Goddess and Senator are home from Target. I’ve been summoned to help with two acquisitions—a pair of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles “in fighting gear.” One’s blue and one’s green, I’ve been told, breathlessly.

Bye.