Well, the wife and d. are off to Murfeesboro for a couple of days or five, leaving me to lounge about and dread the list of chores I’ve drawn up for myself. I saw them off at the airport a couple of hours ago. Now that there are more persons in the employ of the TSA at the terminal than those whose pay comes from the airlines, a fellow has to watch his poor wife manage a stroller, diaper bag, purse, shoes, bouncing baby, and conveyor belt all on her own, while he shoves his hands in his pockets on the other side of the security zone and watches as her hairpins set off the metal detector! Not to say that she didn’t have a little assistance from some friendly X-ray operators, but, really! I might have to moonlight as a porter at the old Okaloosa Regional so that I may see her safely to the gate next time she wants to visit the old college pals. What’s the point of all this security clearance rot to work on warplanes if I can’t get near those of the transportative variety?

Ah well, time to ransack the filing cabinet and get rid of all the church bulletins and pay stubs I’ve been hanging on to - I’d like to keep them around so that I could point out, when appropriate, which psalm was the responsive reading on the second Sunday of March, 1999, or how many coin the US Gov. appropriated from my earnings when I worked as a pool boy in Seaside, oh these many years ago. Nevertheless, the wife says they must go. And our dear little filing cabinet, bedecked with band stickers, must find a new home, as the guest bedroom’s closet must now become the d.’s wardrobe and have room to spare for whatever clothes our guests see fit to bring with. Then it’s off to move the patio and hoe out a kitchen garden. What ho!