So it is Monday

Rose and Pernilla stayed for some sprucing up of their hairdow; Rose, of course, has been the victim of overwork and overstress hair syndrome and Pernilla apparently found some “while she was sleeping” resistance to her more stringent behavior rules for the denizens of the Ohio Redoubt. One loop of her hair stretches a good nine inches from her head. We have been advised not to show a picture of that . . . and we are taking the advice.

The group here has decided they no longer want to remain in the shadows, only mentioned as regulars at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse. They say they have opinions. Oh, this might get embarrassing for this old innkeeper, but they will not be denied.

I haven’t decided with whom we should start – maybe German Jake who lost an arm in the war and has his little checkered sleeve pinned up. (I have found that these folks do not seem to age as quickly as do Der Bingle and I and are quick and agile and lively and full of stories – and future plans.) Oh, that would be the First World War – he was a flyer, dontcha know. He’s still looking for the little floppy-eared American flydog who riddled his tri-plane with bullets. Just a little reunion . . .