Sunday? But it's raining--no sun. So, instead of playing golf in the sunshine--Oh, I forgot, I can't play golf anymore--I find myself playing games. First, while having a cherry jello lunch, I tried my hand at the NY Times crossword puzzle. Didn't do too badly, but when I finished the jello and got stuck on the puzzle, I retired to the computer and did some scrabble, some jewel quest, some solitaire, some blackjack, some super text twist, and some Tut's Tomb. I'm sure there are more games hidden somewhere on the hard drive but I'm dizzy enough now with these games. Of course, when I was a kid-a long time ago--I would go out on the play street for some stickball, or ring-a-levio, or Johnny on the Pony, or three steps to Germany, or kick the can, or skelly. At night, I would go down to the Apache's cellar club and play Spin the Bottle. Or if I was feeling wicked, I'd fill some balloons with water, go up on the roof and drop the water-loaded bomb on some unsuspecting passerby.
Ho Hum. Now at this stage, all my activities involve a lot of sitting down.
Tonite, we are fortunate enough to dine with Mike and Helen. Mike is the Babe Ruth of Fartyrdom and the Tiger Woods of Weirdness.. (See blogs 6/18 and 6/25)) And it is an honor beyond redemption to sit opposite this manchild and watch him eat his meal while the spouse keeps his plate filled with her own repast. It's a joy to watch her not eating as she keeps transferring her food to his side of the table. I suppose she doesn't want to see him lose the title of Sir Fartyre. I'm certain she is filled with pride about being the wife of the Mother of all Fartyrs.
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