Well, it’s the first day of Irish Woman and Boo being away from home, and things are going swimmingly.

I woke up when I wanted this morning. Well, I woke up of my own free will. OK, let’s be honest here – I woke up at the crack of dawn because the dogs heard a squirrel fart in the back yard and they had to pee.

Ah, the carefree life of a man left to his own devices.

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Part of my taskings in the absence of She Who Shall Not Be Named is to water her garden. I accomplished this last night once it had cooled down a bit, an effort that my darling wife noticed because she was alerted to my presence in the yard by the house cameras.

She did not get to her destination until quite late last night, because apparently there is a conspiracy between the airline and the city fathers of Fort Lauderdale to make her trip take double what she had planned. She was considerate enough to just text me when she got to her destination in the wee hours of the morning. (I want credit for not using the term ‘witching hour’ to refer to anything my wife does at thirty minutes past midnight)

We eventually connected this morning, and she thanked me for my attempt to not let her garden wither and die in her absence. She did ask that I revise my garden-puttering schedule so that watering occurred just after sunrise. It seems that watering just prior to dusk would invite mold and mildew into her assorted greenery.

Being the loving husband I am, I acquiesced to her request with nary a complaint. I mean, who am I to argue that dragging a hose around the perimeter of our yard at 6 AM, before both breakfast and coffee, is not something I look forward to?

Luckily for me, it started raining this afternoon. I was dismantling the outside stove, because apparently Shelob had set up her summer residence in the carbeurator, when a wave of humidity rarely seen outside of a badly maintained Filipino clam cannery washed over the property. I had just enough time to gather up the pieces and parts, all my tools, and assorted hounds before the first drops fell.

Seeing that the good Lord saw fit to micturate all over Kentucky this afternoon, I reached out to the love of my life to see if this meteorological phenomenon would satisfy her requirements for vegetal hydration:

As you can see, I have been granted permission to not spend my early morning wandering around the yard with a hose, at least for one day.

I do want to point out that Siri’s inability to transcribe for my lovely wife is an ongoing problem. Apparently, if you speak the King’s English with a Kentucky twang, Siri’s accuracy is a bit hit or miss.

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Speaking of hoses, I need to talk to the manager of whatever sweatshop is producing hosepipes these days.

After last night’s adventure of trying to connect the economy grade hoses Irish Woman purchased last week, I decided that getting something a bit more up-market might be a good idea. I’m not usually picky about my garden implements, but twenty minutes of trying to thread a cheap hose onto a faucet because whatever troglodyte manufactured it didn’t do any quality testing on the connector will make one decide it’s time to make an investment.

Luckily for me, the local hardware store is just 15 minutes from the house, so I popped right on over after coffee this morning. They even had the 75 yard and 50 yard long hoses I need in the brand and quality I wanted. However, when I shelled out almost $100 for both hoses, I made the executive decision that I shall treat these prime examples of rubberized hosemongery as if they were family heirlooms. I will also admonish my heirs and their heirs to continue to do so. Generations from now, they will be passed down from father to son with great ceremony, because it’s going to take using them that long to justify the expense.

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Not sure how the Internet knows, but suddenly I’m getting advertisements, suggested videos, and posts in Facebook for the place I did the coolest thing I ever did.

It just so happens to be the 30th anniversary of that time in my life soon.

I’m not usually very easily influenced, but I’ve been looking at flights. Other than trying to be a responsible adult, the only thing keeping me from hitting that “Reserve” button is the knowledge that I will probably never come back. Irish Woman would not look kindly on a “Sell everything and meet me at these coordinates” postcard.

That being said, if I fall off the net for a few months, just know I’m going home for a while. It’s not where I was born, nor is it where my ancestors are from, but I felt more at home there than just about anywhere else.

Yesterday, I did not wake up and choose violence. Instead, I woke up and chose house cleaning and baking.

One loaf of challah later, I made a nice, hearty pasta and sauteed vegetables dinner. I then proceeded to make a nice batch of cinnamon rolls for today’s breakfast. I needed something folks could grab and eat on the go, and a little bit of carbohydrates, wrapped in carbohydrates, and frosted with carbohydrates really hit the spot.

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Irish Woman and The Young Prince left this morning for a Scouting High Adventure trip to the Florida Keys. Boo will spend several days on a sailboat, learning all about boat handling, ecology, and how to use the wind to move your ship without rum.

Irish Woman and her closest friends will be staying at a nice beach house in the Keys, watching Boo sail by as they sit in the sand and indulge in fruity drinks.

I wish them well. I just want to point out that when I went to Scout camp with Boo, I got to enjoy poison ivy, ticks, and mosquitoes in the moistness that is a Kentucky summer. The closest I ever came to a beach was the mud flats between our tents and the shower.

I’d also like to point out that there is no justice in this world this side of the grave.

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Looking at the politics news of late (I know, I know), it appears that the current front-runner for most lasting impact on the country’s future for the current Trump administation might just be Supreme Court victories.

It appears that the time and attention invested in putting conservative or conservative-leaning judges onto the courts in the first Trump administration might be bearing fruit. The court has ruled in favor of removing the special consideration given to government regulators in litigation. A recent ruling gives states more leeway in how their Medicaid spending is allocated. Today, a decision has come down putting some limits on the power of federal district court judges to issue overly-expansive injuctions.

I’m not looking for a conservative version of the Warren or Burger courts. The court should not swing one way or the other by default. Honestly, I always considered the existence of moderate justices who could swing a decision based on a good interpretation of the Constitution and the law to be an ideal. However, in this day and age, a moderate who has the spine to stand up to both sides is hard to come by.

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On the way back to dropping Boo, Irish Woman, and Irish Woman’s cousin off at the airport, I stopped at Waffle House for breakfast. There’s just something nice about eggs, sausage, and hashbrowns prepared with my favorite fixings to calm the soul. I must have come in just at the end of the night shift, because the staff looked like they’d been in a couple of ambushes and running gun fights.

There was no blood or broken glass on the floor. I saw no evidence of police tape on any of the entrances or the bathroom door. Apparently overnight had been rather sporty, but didn’t rise to a level that would inspire humorous stories.

I woke up this morning to an Internet of former immigration law experts who have evolved into law-of-war, constitutional law, and Mid East foreign policy experts. The mind boggles at what these geniuses will be tomorrow.

I need to step up my game. I’m just a guy who used to have some expertise in Eastern European culture and politics, who morphed into the digital equivelent of a car mechanic, but is currently retooling as a Dachshund caretaker and landscaper.

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Spent the weekend watching several schwanz-measuring contests. First, there was the “Who’s the Biggest Geek?” competition, followed by “Who’s Been a Geek Longer?” cagematch. Both of these were eclipsed by “Who Did the Most Cool Stuff When They Were In The Military 20 Years Ago?” scrum.

I did not participate. I was not there to help Heinlein change his typewriter ribbon, nor do I speak multiple non-human languages without a noticable accent. It goes without saying that I was never a Delta Force Scout Sniper Airborne Riverine Space Shuttle Door Gunner.

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Watching friends do well and become leaders in something is wonderful. Watching pricks who used to be dominant in their space become a footnote is almost as good.

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Did I mule a bottle of top-shelf bourbon down to Tennessee for a friend? Yes.

Did I mule two bottles of niche hot sauce down for another friend? Also yes.

Am I muling seveal bottles of Tennessee whiskey up to Kentucky? Most definitely, but I have to figure out how to not let Irish Woman find out about them.

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Quote of the weekend – I dress like this because it pisses other people off.

I hope to achieve that mindset someday.

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Note to self – When faced with the choice of having hippy-dippy pizza in a brewpub or having upscale steak and seafood for dinner, get a brown ale and a slice.

I want credit for not asking the waiter at the steak-and-alcohol restaurant whether the filet and ravioli plate was prepared by imported Peruvian sasquatch hunters and served by Miss Tennessee 2014 for the price he wanted. They did have an impressive choice of bourbon, though.

I also want to point out that it is hard to blend into a crowd of twenty-somethings who can’t afford what they’re ordering, salted liberally with older folks who are only there because the female in the relationship wants to be seen at a trendy place frequented by younger women, when you’re the only dude who’s sitting alone, wearing a colorful hawaiian shirt, and reading a novel.

Blending in in that environment would have required me to drain one highball glass after another, while wearing tan pants and a pastel shirt, and sitting across from a pile of mutton dressed as lamb. Now that I think about it, I’m OK with sticking out a bit at the restaurant.

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I think I may have pissed a few people off this weekend by not being ‘chatty’ enough. I’d rather be silent and assumed to be a fool than open my mouth and prove it, but that apparently is frowned upon in some social circles.

Something occurred to me the other night –

Iran is sending over flights of missiles and drones. Some are getting through air defense and detonating at seemingly random places.

Some of those missiles are directed at Jerusalem.

What happens if one of the hits the Dome of the Rock?

I’d say there’s a 50/50 chance that Israel would be blamed, but the Arab street, and the governments of those Arabs, could also turn on Iran with a fury Israel could never bring to bear.

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The Young Prince returned home on Saturday from his first week working with younger scouts at summer camp. He got home on Saturday morning and had to be back on Sunday morning. Just enough time to get a good shower, do laundry, get a couple home-cooked meals, and sleep for about 10 hours.

When he came through the door, his dog lost her everloving mind. Sophie the Faux Dachshund was vocal to the point of hysteria. It only got worse when I told her boy to go get a shower. I had to sit with her and rock her like a newborn with colic.

It’s gonna be really rough when he comes back for a few days, then leaves with his mother to attend a Scout camp in Florida next week.

I may have to either introduce her to bourbon or start imbibing a bit more myself.

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Date night this week was dinner followed by a screening of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. It’s been rereleased for its 35 year anniversary.

Watching Harrison Ford and Sean Connery play off each other on the big screen was an excellent way to spend two hours and thirty dollars. I even got the commemorative metal Jaws popcorn bucket. That one is 50 years old now, and I missed seeing its rerelease.

The theater was about 3/4 full. It reinforces the belief I wrote about a few weeks ago that Hollywood could do worse than rereleasing older, good movies while they figure out how to make money again.

There’s just something about good story and acting, coupled with practical effects and a John Williams soundtrack, that just works. Is it the best movie ever made? No. Was my enjoyment at least partially enhanced by the nostalgia of remembering watching the first release? Yes.

But it was fun and it was frank about its “The Nazis are bad guys. Let’s root for the good guys” story, and that’s missing from a lot of movies nowadays.

Still not happy that the kid who served us our popcorn had to have the movie explained to him. He’d never seen Last Crusade. That made me sad, and I blame his parents.

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Later today, I’ll be heading up to the Apple store to pick up a new Mini. It’ll replace my MacBook Air, which choked when I tried to open up Microsoft Word and a web browser last week.

Some of my friends complain about the cost of a Mac, and they’re right in that there’s a big outlay for a new piece of hardware.

However, that MacBook is the 2015 model. Even assuming that I haven’t used it much for the past year or so, that’s still almost 10 years of good usage with no issues until it just physically couldn’t handle starting newer versions of software.

In that same timeframe, Irish Woman has had at least two HP laptops, neither of them bargain basement models. I’d say that even if I spent the same amount for both of her laptops as I did for my MacBook, I’m still ahead just because of not having to transfer files and settings over, not to mention having to repurchase/reinstall a plethora of programs, a few times.