Sunday

One day more. Noah's folks are are somewhere between Orlando and Dallas on the second-to-last leg of their trip. They are arriving home late tonight and will picking the little guy up in the morning. I feel like a hostage waiting for the Swat Team to arrive. We've had quite a bit of fun this past eight days, but the care and feeding of a four-year-old is best left to younger people, at least for extended periods of time. As our old next-door-neighbor Art used to say, my fun-meter is pegged. Not to be political, but Mark Steyn had a great line about the Clinton campaign in a article this week. Steyn liken her near-hopeless campaign to the last patron in a smoky bar at closing time. Steyn wrote, They’re locking up the joint, and no matter how many nickels she drops in the jukebox it won’t play “Hail To The Chief.” Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky