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Those friends of the decanter curious to know about the state of Robbo’s ongoing malady may be interested to know that it seems to have shifted its base of operations from the lungs to the throat, where I feel as if some angler has imbedded several three-prong hooks.

This has had the effect of rendering my voice, well, different.  In searching around for an adequate metaphor to describe it, I hit upon the notion of Peter Lorre’s Ugarte doing Marlon Brando’s Don Corleone.

The thought of, “Oh, Reek! I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse! Reeeeeek!!” has had me chuckling to myself all day.

So I must be getting better.  Either that or I misread the dosage on the cough syrup.

Ol’ Robbo can’t help noticing the rayther largish number of blogs to which he is linked that have gone silent.  Indeed, he has to work mighty hard to stop himself from guiltily thinking that his attention has had something to do with such silence.  (Don’t laugh.  It’s a family tradition.  The Old Gentleman was known as “Dr. Drought” because wherever he took up residence seemed to suffer an unaccountable drop in annual rainfall.)

At any rate, when I have a few minutes, it’s my intention to move the fjord-pining links down to the “Under the Table” category and it occurs to me to ask you lot for recommendations for possible replacements around the decanter.  In short, what blogs that you don’t see linked here do you think I ought to be reading?

Thankee!

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Friends of the decanter might be interested to know that today is Mr. and Mrs. Robbo’s nineteenth wedding anniversary.

We’re not planning to do much celebrating today, in part because I’m still feeling punky and also in part because we boot the gels off to Bible-thumper camp in the wilds of Pennsylvania this Sunday and it’s handier for proper revelry not to have the house full of younglings.  (If you know what I mean and I think you do.)

Speaking of which (childs, that is, not revelry – behave yourselves!), Mrs. R and I have both noticed recently that the gels seem to be paying much closer attention to the fact of our marriage than heretofore.  I suppose this is  just a function of adolescence and a greater sense of the world around them:  We’ve always been there and together, a given, a constant, the North Star in their lives if you like.  But then they read of the one week celebrity “marriages” in the supermarket tabloids.  They hear about and observe terrible things happening almost casually or as a matter of course in so many of the families of their friends.  I suppose it’s natural that as they struggle to put all these things together, they want to see the math.

Anxiety?  A desire for reassurance? Quest for knowledge?  Probably some combination thereof.  At any rate, they’ve been asking a lot of questions about us of late, to which we have been doing our best to impart what wisdom we have managed to scrape together over the years.  Frankly, I don’t know how much such talk (at least from me) is actually worth – I think just setting the example day to day is probably of much greater value.

 

 

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