Where Are The People

Don't bother me too much about my literary genius lately. My creativity juices are in limbo and nothing has struck me as newsworthy. Readership is down two hundred a day and the only reason(s) for this that come to mind are: weather is nice and folks are planting flowers, golfing and fishing or procreating. We won't know the real facts on the last one until next February. It could be that many are sick and tired of reading about BHO. Yep, that's my guess.
I did attend another funeral yesterday. It's a sign of the times and I don't like it. Our next door neighbor, Mrs. Hoag, passed away. She was lovely in every way. I only knew her for three years and she was bedridden most of the time but she always invited me into the house and she had a perpetual smile on her face along with a good word to say. I emailed a few friends about the memorial and, since none of them knew the lady I decided to write them a frivolous comment. I wrote that I sat next to Jack Nicklaus, which I did. Anyway, I told the guys that during the service there was a lull and I sort of nudged Jack on the shoulder and said, "could you check out my golf grip"? As is usual one of the guys thought I was serious. Maybe I don't express myself well enough with the written word.
I've decided I'm going to buy a suit for specific occasions. One for funerals, another for weddings and a third for Bar Mitzvahs. Speaking of weddings we attend a nifty one in Findlay, Ohio last Saturday. The young man is the most humble person I've ever met. He's an accountant and very devout in his Catholic faith. He met his Mrs. on an on-line Catholic dating web site. They dated for two years then he popped the question and a year later they tied the knot. For their honeymoon they're going to Rome and it's set up that they will have an audience with the Pope and he's going to personally bless them and their wedding rings. That's cool especially if you happen to be one of us. Their wedding reception was typical Catholic; lots of booze, dancing and toward the end of the evening many obnoxious wildly singing Irish impersonators. When there are wild Catholic weddings you'll see a boat load of protestants trying to crash the festivities. We can always ferret them out by asking them to show the 'secret hand shake' or by asking them to show their St. Christoper medal. If they pull one out we know they're bogus. He's been a Mr. Christopher for at least two decades.
Lizzie leaves for Minnesota next week to open up the lake cabin. Hello bachelor days again--along with a piggy condo and dirty laundry hanging from the rafters. Somebody forward some ideas.