Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a barista

It is a cool morning here at the old homestead.  When I scrambled out of the loft I had to break a skim of ice from the water bucket. The fire in the stove was a welcome relief from the chill. I leaned against the cow as I milked her, absorbing her body heat. Nonsense abounds. The closest I ever came to milking a cow was an evening I spent with this chunky gal in he back of a station wagon during a football game at Western Boone High School back in 1977 or '78. I didn't even know her name.

I'm on vacation today. We were supposed to be using up some of those hard-earned Hilton points at a lovely resort in Florida for the next couple of days. Alas, the wife did not feel comfortable driving that far by herself. Me, I could do the 12 hours each way easily, that is a routine business trip for me. But she is all scared to let a blind person drive her across country, particularly at night. Every time the lecture starts with "Joe, you can't...", I just tune it out. It starts to sound just like a teacher in a Charlie Brown cartoon: whaaah, whaaaah. So, we are having a staycation. That is a fancy word that translates as wasting good vacation days doing nothing fun. 

There is a park bench overlooking the retention pond on the other side of he housing addition. Maybe I will walk over there. I bet staring at that water will be just like watching the ocean. Only different. No sharks. There is that. 

I think I saw tne Go Gos back in '82. That story is in the archives somewhere. I could look it up, but I'm on vacation.

The Cubs have a day game today.  That will eat up a few hours.