I bought a pressure washer the other day. I've wanted one for years. I didn't get around to it until Sadie, our new puppy, began leaving indelicate memories on our backyard pavers. The sort of memories that leave a stain. There is a price to be paid for having a backyard without grass and giving free reign to a puppy many weeks away from being housebroken….
Once upon a time I worked as a deckhand on party boat in Newport Harbor. A normal cruise ran two hours and started with the busy-ness of pouring drinks, serving brunch, and clearing dishes. But once all that was done and the guests settled down to find the bar on their own there was no need to stay below….
It's been awhile since I wrote in this space, so I thought I'd pass along a little update over what I've been doing this past year. Last spring, just as Covid was beginning to look like a long term issue, I began working on the first book of my own in ten years. The title is TAKING PARIS. It's about World War II. I love it.
I can't imagine a better demonstration of civil liberty than police allowing demonstrators armed with loaded automatic weapons to rally on the capitol steps in an attempt to intimidate legislators. Any other country on earth would throw them in a gulag, level their homes, and salt the earth. Ironically, they are demonstrating over their lack of civil liberties.
Wags and Wiggles, the local doggie day care, reopened this week — and not a moment too soon. Django was getting the same cabin fever as the rest of us, despite more trips to the dog park than he'd ever experienced. He's a hound and alert barker, with a propensity for taking personal responsibility for our safety and well-being, patrolling the backyard and howling at any perceived threats. Having us around the house 24-7 put him on high alert. He's adorable but anxious, and finally getting the chance to once again hang out with a bunch of dogs all day has calmed him down a bunch.
Hello, dear readers. Many of you don't get my monthly newsletter, which is written to be light and motivating, as well as a blatant push for you to buy my books…. It's a little more heartfelt, with an edge not found in the normal newsletter (subscribe here). But this stuff is on my mind right now.
I won my bracket. . . . Thanks to an iffy last-minute foul — and a non-call — I win. As champion, our punishment is that the loser now has to chug a six-pack of the beer of my choosing. Our group numbers several grown men who have achieved considerable success in a wide variety of fields, [b]ut when it came time to select a penalty for losing the bracket, we all resorted to the residue of our college days.
