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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Life goes on.

Yesterday morning, Middle Gel took Decanter Dog off to the groomers to get her summah cut.  She returned very shortly thereafter, however:  D. Dog had checked off too many signs of stress boxes and had therefore been refused service.  Instead, at the groomers’ recommendation, the Gel brought home a starter clipper set.

Now you may ask yourself, “Self? What does Ol’ Robbo know from dog grooming?”  The answer is nut n’ honey.  Nevertheless, Mrs. R and I endeavored to persevere.  We pulled D. Dog out on the patio and between us started buzzing away.  I can’t say we were methodical, or even particularly consistent, and I’m sure AKA-types would have conniptions at our results.  But it seemed to us that we did a good enough job.  (And she must be cooler: I picked up enough shaved fur to stuff a medium sized pillow.)

I may say that Decanter Dog herself was quite patient with us throughout, even while I held her up so Mrs. R could have a go at her backside.  Meanwhile, I could barely resist the temptation to start yelling at Mrs. R, “Where is her Busy Bee?  Where is her Busy Bee??!! You go find her Busy Bee RIGHT NOW!!” ***

Then last evening, even amidst the series of thunderboomers that rolled through, we had a little home graduation celebration for Youngest.  She had picked up cap and gown earlier in the week, and had put on the dress she had originally bought for senior prom.  So after I retrieved my jaw from the floor (she was seriously stunning), we did the obligatory family pictures.  (This was the first time Ol’ Robbo had put on a tie since mid-March, by the bye.)  Dinner itself, at which Youngest’s best friend was also present, consisted of P.F. Chang take-out and a bottle of champers, plus macaroons and ice-cream cake for dessert.  It was considerably more enjoyable than many more elaborate affairs to which I’ve been dragged.

This morning I discovered that my weed-whacker is on the fritz again:  The end of the gas line has popped out of the tank.  This is a problem I’ve dealt with before but for some reason simply pushing it back in again is not working this time.  So I will need to run to the hardware store later (twist Ol’ Robbo’s arm!) and find some Flex-Seal or something to lock it down.  If I have any left over, perhaps I’ll also build a motorboat out of a chicken coop!

As I say, life goes on.

***Spot the quote.

UPDATE:  The weed-whacker repair was a success! I needle-nose pliered the tube back into the tank outlet, slathered the connection with some clear, all-purpose epoxy, and let the thing sit for twenty-four hours.  Worked like a charm this afternoon.

So, how about some hydrangea (oak-leaf, of course)?  I planted about a dozen of them behind my garden fence when we first moved into Port Swiller Manor twenty years ago and they’ve matured into a solid hedge that blossoms consistently and enthusiastically every year:

The big clusters of white make a very nice backdrop for the various reds, yellows, blues, and purples that come up in front of them.

 

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