I looked up at the window and saw this:

Have we been tipped ourselves? Or are we belly up?

This is a mirror that used to hang in my paternal grandparents’ house. It might have been in my great-grandparents’ house. Anyway it is old and foggy . . . but wait! . . . can that be Humphrey Bogart watching the plane for Lisbon take off? Maybe I should just walk toward the mirror until I am there in Casablanca. Ah, the beginning of a beautiful friendship – Rick, Louie, and me.

Found in a drawer – Quentin kindergarten school picture

Okay, I was getting ready to take a shower and had put Estee Lauder cleansing cream on my face and then I saw my phone and had this wild idea to “reveal” myself.

Yesterday was my father’s birthday; he would have been 90. I was thinking about him off and on during the day and at one point mentioned to Der Bingle that if my father were alive and were turning 90, I would be worried about him dying. Der Bingle just dropped his head and sighed.

Yesterday I came across a stuffed moose and saw that Quentin and I had decided his name was Short Flat Moose. We wrote it on masking tape and stuck it on his butt. It was there yesterday when I turned SFM upside down, albeit yellowed and crinkled. Today I went to take his pictures and when I turned him rearward, there was no tag. I was taken aback and looked around the area. No tag. So I guess you will just have to take my word for it that he is Short Flat Moose. Of course, maybe he didn’t like his name and wants to change it. Maybe he would like “No Name on Butt Moose”.

It was a small fire, sort of a firelet. I was looking at the newspaper, searching for a Kroger ad about Holiday Season Sample Day* and one section flopped in the area of a votive candle.  A small black hole appeared and I yelled, ran to the sink and turned on the faucet. I was about to push the paper under the water when I thought, “Wait! This is the Living section; the sudoku is in it and it is Saturday and a 6-star one.” So to prevent the drenching of the puzzle, I splashed water on the fire area. The sudoku, Mother Goose & Grimm and Get Fuzzy were saved. (GF mentioned “the supreme cat” so we cut it out.)

I tore the sudoku out of the fire scene on the facing page and put it somewhere . . . . and never saw it again.

AUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH

*More about this later. (The salmon cheeseball was delicious.)

Yesterday it was feet. Today I have worked my way up to knees. And the left one hurts. I walked by someone today who was remarking to a friend, “At 60, your body starts to fall apart.” Okay, that was uplifting.

Ah, I don’t want to talk about knees. I want to eat . . . a burrito. Here at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse, I guess I’ll have to hide in a closet to do so . . . or smother it with PB – an interesting, but not compelling, thought.

They are stretched out here in front of me and my light-weight thin-soled skechers feel wee bit tight, but I don’t want to slip them off – that will doom me to be sent on an errand or something. So I am leaving my shoes on and rotating my feet around, toes pointed at some far place. Yes, this is my moment: my feet. Thinking about my feet is keeping me from thinking about this post. I’m going to think feet some more; I think that is about all my mind is up to now.

Oh, I didn’t have to come back to check the spelling of hemorrhoid . . . because I didn’t blog about the management style of Rahm Emmanuel as described by a colleague: between a hemorrhoid and a toothache. So nevermind.

Indiana . . . what happened? My red state is blue? Well, in more than the color on the map. A lot of us are pretty blue this morning.

But then, we at the PBC&R are remembering a special warrior who quoted in 1976 another warrior:

I will lay me down and bleed a while
Though I am wounded, I am not slain
I shall rise and fight again.

So, let us get on with it . . .