"Like a dull actor now, I have forgot my part." (Coriolanus)

So, if you didn't file your tax return yesterday, perhaps if you sneak it into the mailbox today no one will notice it when it gets to the IRS. Especially if it goes to some IRS office in Florida where doing things wrong is a worker's right. Perhaps it's written in the Florida constitution or in the Katuba if the agent is in the tribe. The other day we bought a Block and Decker toaster oven in Walmart, took it home, and burned whatever we put into it. So we returned it for our refund. This is not an unusual occurrence with a purchased appliance. My advice to anyone planning to buy an appliance in Florida is to purchase it, bring it home, don't open it, and then bring it back for your refund the next day. Then go somewhere else for your appliance...I mean...like to Georgia.

I must have caught the do-it-wrong bug from one of my elderly friends because I mistakenly got onto Rhoda's Gmail...somehow...and then somehow deleted everything in her inbox that she was saving. She's a great saver. I just assumed that all the email I saw belonged to me and if it looked strange, I killed it. When Rho subsequently went to her Gmail and found nothing in her inbox, she had a "hissy fit"...not unusual, but under the circumstances, fully understandable. Once I realized what I had done, I was overcome with "mea maxima culpa"--my most grievous fault. (But, read my "Memoirs" for my "Apologia pro Vita Sua".) As a result of that e-mail disaster, Rhoda claimed that I had a PTSD "episode". She said I woke at about 2am and shouted that my plane was on fire, and that I was the only one who could reach the extinguisher because I was in the aft turret. Rho flew out of bed, without a ticket, and put a stop to my errant flashback. She also claimed that I said I wanted to kill myself to be with my buddies. However, she wouldn't allow that, either. She's stubborn in these matters. Besides, I think perhaps she dreamed all of this up, herself.

This is the 188th blog that I've written, which when I think about it, I don't know really how I've done that. Anyway, the journal serves as a "sequel" to my "Memoirs of a Tail Gunner". I believe Retirement is my "7th Life" and may very well be the longest one. Just today, my neighbor Lou sent me an email describing the "Circle of Life" and the subject was "What is Success?" At 3 success means not having to crap in your pants; at 12, success means having friends; at 18, success means having a driver's license; at 20, success means having sex; at 35, success means having money; at 50, success means having money; at 60, success means having sex; at 70 success means having a driver's license; at 80, success means not having to crap in your pants.