Degringolade

Can it really be June 21st already! The solstice has come and gone. The days are growing shorter, the nights longer. The wicked north wind begins to swell its chest and prepares to hurl Canadian snow against our frail huts. Soon the world will look like this photo Liz took one dreadful night last December:

Whose woods these are I think I know..

Oh, wait. I forgot. We’ll be in southern California before long. We won’t huddle in fear while the scary trees of winter creep in to surround us and try to frighten us away with their muttered threats and whispered warnings of doom. Those gnarled elms, embittered by the Dutch pandemic, can murmur and hiss all they want: they have no power in L.A.. There, under clear skies, we shall be serenaded by the merry avocados and friendly pistachios.

In the meantime, as the gloom gathers here in the upper Midwest, we must dispel the darkness by manufacturing our own happiness. And what better way than by not going to the movies?

The selection of films to skip makes it hard to choose. How about Get Smart? Not all that funny as a TV sitcom; nor likely to improve with super-sizing. Can a feature length My Mother the Car be far behind?

And look: another Mike Meyers comedy… Oh, never mind. It’s gone.

Guess we’ll have to read a… a… you know, one of those things you read.

A Blog?

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