Yes, once again Spring Break for the grandkids has rolled around. Whoa. I just stopped typing cold. Bam. No fingers moving or even twitching . . . because I am overwhelmed with the thought of the coming week. Perhaps we should have a theme for the week – maybe Monastery of Silence meets Nuns Who Speakth Not. Or maybe I will go to Spring Bird Camp, which annually meets this time of the year at the northwest corner of the porch. The curriculum is to learn to fly through the westernmost north porch window, continue through the nothernmost west porch window, then on to the windows that form the northwest corner of the house. I almost think the constant thunking of my head would be preferable to the week of time with the spring chickens.

Oh, and yeah, after I hear the first couple of thunks, I scoot something in front of the first window to discourage attempted fly-throughs, but those guys are so insistent.

This morning I looked over at one of the three piece hinged mirrors I picked up at an auction for almost nothing. Each piece is framed in  wood and the hinges are brass and where they can be seen. That’s fine, except just lately I moved it onto a spot where two of the three mirrors are in a straight line. Stand and look in them and you have a slender body, but no head. Okay, I guess it is on to Plan B. Although . . . the body appears fit and you don’t have to gringe at winkles and crazed hair.

It was Saturday night in the Foo Bar and so now it is quiet here . . . just us old fuddy-duddy Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse.