Bellbottom Blog

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A Better Ending

Last week, my son and I made the trip back to my hometown.  The reason for it was to clear out my Dad’s room at the nursing home.

He had a few  pieces of furniture that we were offered to us by my youngest brother.

It was a somber day with all kinds of roadblocks.

First, the cargo van we had reserved wasn’t available when I went to pick it up.  I will let this clip from Seinfeld explain:

So, we found a truck from U-Haul to do the job.  It was a hundred dollars more than the van would have been.

We also had some rain to deal with.  Just an ominous start.

Add in the sadness and finality of the situation, this was going to be a long day.

When we arrived at the home, we went about figuring out the best way to load the furniture in the truck. A 7 foot long couch, three end tables. and two dressers.

The couch was the one, as my daughter pointed out later, that we all fell asleep on after Thanksgiving dinner at Mom and Dad’s. It is full of memories.

My parents believed in buying quality furniture.  Quality means heavy.  Very heavy.

After a lot of effort, the room was empty and the truck was full.

As we were walking back to the room for one last look, a man appeared at the end of the hall.  He was wondering why the door to the room was open.  As we got closer, he recognized us.

When our son started kindergarten, there was a meeting of parents.  At that meeting we met, Mark and his wife.  His son was my son’s age.  Our families have known each other ever since.  Mark coached my son one year in basketball.  We hadn’t seen each other since our family moved away.

He talked about visiting with Dad during his stay there.  He helped with his therapy and when Dad became too ill to continue any kind of therapy.  Mark still came down to his room and visited.  They talked about baseball.  About a week before Dad died, he asked Mark a question.

“It isn’t going to be much longer, is it?”


Mark said Dad seemed to be at peace.

As I mentioned in my last post, the funeral, especially the eulogy, was extremely difficult for my family.  As the days have passed, we have all struggled with what-ifs.

As we talked to Mark, I noticed my son seemed to be a little more animated than he had been since the funeral.  Knowing that a guy we knew for over 16 years had spent time with Dad in his final days when we couldn’t be there meant a lot.

It was a great comfort.

And… is the best part.  Mark didn’t make the connection that Dad was related to us when he was visiting.  He was just being kind to one of his patients.

So, if you believe in Karma or angels, Mark was at the right place at the right time.

As we thanked Mark for his kindness, the sun came out.

My son and I went to the truck for the long drive back.  He said, “That was a better ending.”

I agree.


Notes From A Funeral

This past weekend, my family went to my hometown for the funeral of my Dad.

My wife, daughter, grandson and I made the trip up there arriving at about 3 in the morning.

My son came up after he got off from work arriving at about 7.

For the first time in my life, there was no family home to go to.  We had to sell it in order for my Dad to receive the best care possible. So we rented a couple of hotel rooms.  It is strange to be treated like someone from out-of-town in your hometown.

The visitation was from 2-6 which meant we were all operating on very little sleep. But the family has to be there an hour earlier to make sure everything is where we wanted it.  Flowers. Pictures. That gives us some privacy while we deal with the reality of what is happening.

When we knew Dad was going to a assisted living facility, I argued for him to move closer to us.  He would have been able to make the trip and we could have seen him on a regular basis.  In fact, there is such a facility just 3 blocks from our house. He could have seen the grandchildren.  If anything was needed, we would have been able to get there quickly.  I lost that argument with my brothers who decided he could remain in his hometown.  They said there would be enough family and friends to visit him.  There was a lot of yelling (by me) but they got their way.  I will always regret that decision and my inability to change their minds.

As a result of this, my kids hadn’t seen their grandfather since December.  My son spent his 21st birthday visiting his grandpa that month. Both kids had spent thousands of hours over the years with both of their grandparents and they had a special bond that was both rare and beautiful.  Mom and Dad taught them so much over the years.

Eventually, mourners appeared.  We exchanged the usual handshakes and hugs.  Tears flowed. Stories were shared. Laughter found its way in. Our grandson entertained people by performing a series of somersaults.

Almost all of my cousins came.  They had all been in our spot at sometime in their lives as Dad was one of the last survivors from his generation in our family.  His two sisters, each a little older than him, were there.  He was their baby brother at the tender age of 86. They are respectively 90 and 93.  Both of them still sharp.

With about an hour to go, a small woman came up to me and introduced herself as a distant relative.  My grandfather, for those of you who haven’t read any other of the pieces about my Dad, was a miserable SOB.  So much so that the Catholic Church gave  my grandmother permission to divorce him.  In the forties, when that was rarely done.  Well, granddad went to Ohio, remarried, and had several more children, a descendant of whom was now in front of me.

Turns out she is the genealogist in that branch of our rather misshapen family tree.  An absolutely delightful person. We chatted for quite a while. Fortunately for her, the genealogist in our part of the family was there as well so I brought them together.

I kept track of the number of people who said they visited Dad. I know it seems petty but I did. The number was low.

All in all, the time went well. If you ever wonder about the effect words of condolence have, let me assure you, they mean a lot.  They really do.

Afterward we went out to eat at our favorite wings place and drove around the town revisiting my parents former houses and the first house my wife and I lived in.  The kids fell asleep almost immediately when we started the journey. We wanted to take the drive to remember better days and to say goodbye.

The day of the funeral, just a few minutes before the service was about to start, a woman came up to me and asked if I was one of Dad’s children. I replied that I was the oldest. She then proceeded to tell me that she had shared a pew with Dad several times during Sunday Mass.  They had both lost their respective spouses around the same time 5 years earlier.  Then she dropped this on me.

She said Dad had proposed to her a couple of years ago.

She said, “I told him. I know how much you miss your wife.  If we were in our sixties, maybe we could consider it, but we should just remain friendly.”

I told her how glad I was to hear her story and thanked her for her kindness to my Dad.  (My mind was reeling. As my wife asked, “Who tells that kind of story just before a funeral?”)

She took a seat near the back of the church.

We all filed in and the service started.  Everything was fine until the eulogy.

When Mom died, all three brothers were in the room when stories were requested for the priest to put together the eulogy. For this one I had submitted a story to my youngest brother by phone.  He wrote it down. (It’s the one at the end of my last post if you are curious.)

Not only was that story not used, the priest went on at some length about how noble it was for Dad to resist all entreaties to move to another town in his last months on earth.  I mentioned in that last post, I believe, how much we as a family treasure getting the last word.  In this case, one or both of my brothers had used the priest to get that precious last word  from the pulpit.

I was stunned.  What was the thought process behind that?  It felt like a big eff you to my family.  As I shifted around in my seat, my wife said later she thought I was going to get up and walk out.  I didn’t think it would be appropriate to do that. So many family members were here to pay their respects making myself the focal point would have been wrong.  I was raised to be better than that.

When the service was over, the priest was sitting in the lobby and I watched my brothers thank him for his efforts.  When one lingered a little too long, I had my answer to the eulogy question. The quote “I know it was you Fredo.” went through my head.

We all went to our respective cars for the trip to the cemetery. As we were leaving the church parking lot, I glanced at the front of the church.  Behind the door was the woman to whom Dad had proposed.   She watched the hearse drive off.

There was a quick ceremony in the chapel at the cemetery. Taps was played. I received the flag that was draped over my father’s coffin.  We invited the mourners to lunch in the back room of a local Italian restaurant.

I shared a table with my family. People came over during the meal to offer condolences.  Fredo worked the room like a game show host.

After the meal, we had one last round of goodbyes with everyone, then it was back to the hotel room to check out.

On the way out of town, we stopped back at the cemetery to visit the grave site.  The workmen had already done their job. Dad was next to Mom.

I gave a quick history lesson on the names that were in the adjoining spots. Some going back to the mid-1800’s when the plots were purchased.

As I left, I said what I used to tell them when we would leave after a visit.

“Behave yourselves.”


I do want to thank the people who read the last post and said such kind things on Twitter.  I treasure every comment you left me.











Dad (1927-2013)

I wrote about Dad a few times over the brief history of this blog.

Around four in the morning Wednesday, Dad passed away.

His illness finally won its cruel battle with him. He was receiving hospice care. Morphine kept him as comfortable as possible. 

He had been hospitalized in November.

Eventually, he had recovered enough to be in assisted living for the last several months. 

For a man as active as Dad was over his 86 years, this last stretch seems unusually unfair.  He fought a losing battle bravely without complaint.

Vascular degeneration is the official villain here. 


Years ago, my parents drew up a will and left my youngest brother in charge of things.  They gave him detailed instructions of where all the accounts and policies were.  When Mom died, six years ago, Dad was able to handle all of that.  This time, the burden fell to my brother. 

He had to figure out the best place for care and how to pay for it. 

The kind of care Dad needed was expensive so the house was sold in the hope that the money would extend enough to give Dad the best care available. 

And my brother had to do all that while still holding down a full-time job. He took the challenge and performed admirably.

I would suggest to anyone reading this: Take the time to do what my parents did. Doing that ahead of time gives the person a chance to figure things out without the stress that accompanies a debilitating illness.


Dad has a wonderful mind for making and fixing things. He built workbenches, fences, sheds.  In his mid ’70’s, he replaced all the siding on their ranch-style house. He had never done that before, so he studied it for months. When he was sure he could do it, he tackled the project single-handed.  

The one thing he couldn’t fix or change was Mom’s death. She died suddenly the morning after Thanksgiving almost six years ago.

Thanksgiving night, she told him she didn’t feel well.  

At 9:00 that night, he took her to the nearest hospital. It was just five minutes away.  She WALKED into the emergency room.  My wife and I were pulling up as she did that.  Over the next few hours, guesses were made as to what was wrong. A cardiologist made some initial tests.  When it seemed everything was going to remain the same with her, Dad went home for a few hours of sleep. 

As we walked through the parking lot he mentioned that he hated to leave her there. 

About six in the morning, we got a call from the hospital.  Things had gotten worse. We hurried back. My wife and kids joined us.

Mom had stabilized enough for them to move her to run some tests.

At nine o’clock, an ashen-faced cardiologist told us he had “the worst news”. Mom had 20 minutes to live. She lasted 21.

Dad was devastated.  He went over the last twelve and a half hours of Mom’s life for the rest of his.  He seemed convinced there was a solution. Maybe a different hospital. Maybe he should have taken her there earlier.  Maybe….maybe….

There was no convincing him that he did all he could. “I know what you are saying, but…”, his voice would trail off.

Well, he has peace now. No more pain. No more regret.

For the first time in my 57 years, there is no parent to call with good news. No one to ask for advice.  No one to trade well-worn stories with.

That is how life works.

Knowing that doesn’t make this any easier.

Sunday, we will make the drive to my hometown and spend a few hours consoling people who are trying to console us. Monday, the funeral.

He was in the military at the end of WW ll, so there will be a military presence . Taps will be played. Tears will flow.

We will make our way from the funeral to a nearby restaurant where stories will be shared.  The atmosphere will be lighter, People will laugh as a release.

Dad taught me that.

When my great-grandmother died, Dad was a pallbearer.

As he and one of my Mom’s cousins walked away from the funeral, their duties fulfilled, the cousin said to Dad,”You weren’t lifting your share.”

Dad said, ” That’s why I get in the middle.”

One last thing:

At the hospital, when Dad was becoming aware of what his future held he said something that I thought was simple and profound. 

I would hope everyone could say this at the end.

Usually, I end these posts with the word “Peace”. 

Today, Dad gets the last word. 

He said, “I can’t complain, I’ve had a good life”.




I Am In Another Video

After the Newtown massacre of young school children, I participated in a Blunt video. This was back in January. You can look at my archives and read the post which has the video in it.

After Saturday’s disturbing news in the Trayvon Martin case which led to George Zimmerman walking away scot-free, the opportunity came to be in another one.

The video I am a part of will be at the bottom of this post.

First, let me explain how Florida law works.

Let’s say I was walking through a neighborhood around 7 in the evening.

A man with no identifiable badges or uniforms is following me.

I finally turn around to hear him ask me what I am doing.

I say I am walking.  He keeps coming forward.

I walk to meet him.

One thing leads to another, we start pushing each other.

Mind you to this point, I have a right to be where I am.

I get the better of him.

I am on top of him slapping him a few times.

He obviously doesn’t know how to fight.

He starts to cry. I detect he may have wet his pants.

Feeling he has learned his lesson, I push myself up to get off of him.

At which point, the crying, pants-wetting coward pulls out a gun and shoots me.

In Florida, as long as the guy with the gun convinces everyone he was in fear of his life, it is a justifiable shooting.  Even though the fight was over.

How do laws like that come about?  NRA-sponsored legislatures push them through.  Their zeal to let gun owners run loose knows no bounds.

So, in the Trayvon Martin case, the only thing that could have saved this young man’s life would have been for George Zimmerman to stay with his truck like he was told to by the 911 dispatcher.

Unfortunately, armed with the false sense of courage only a loaded gun can provide, Zimmerman ignored that recommendation and ultimately Trayvon was killed.

The jury, made up of people around my age, bought Zimmerman and his story.  Even to the point that one of the jurors went on television after the verdict and repeatedly referred to Zimmerman as “George” like he was a friend.

That juror was going to write a book about her experiences.  Genius that she is though, she went on Anderson Cooper and gave away the whole story.  People on social media voiced their disapproval and after her literary agent dropped her, she announced the book project was going to end.

I am heartsick over this situation.

That night I called WTLC 106.7 here in Indy.  They had an open line and invited anyone to call in. I expressed my sentiments.

Then I cosigned the NAACP petition to get the Justice Department to get involved with the case.

Now after a few days of pondering, I am writing this.  Millions of words have been used to talk about this trial since Saturday. I don’t know if I am adding anything new.  It just seems to me that we are all in this thing together.

Under that law, killers go free.

Admitted killers go free.

That is not right.

We need to fix it.

Every state that has a Stand Your Ground law needs to have that reviewed.

And, once again, we need gun laws that keep irresponsible people like Zimmerman from owning one.

So if you would please take a look at this video and if you have a minute, please pass either this post or the video along.

My thanks to @GottaLaff at the Political Carnival for letting me participate again.  She does amazing work at that site. On the video there is a link to the Political Carnival, please check them out.



Shell Shocked: A Book Review

I am going to try something a little different here.

I love books.

And it seemed to me that a blog named the Bellbottom Blog would be the perfect place to review this book.

So, gather around kids and let me take you back to a mystical time called the Sixties.

The band is The Turtles, The lead singer is Howard Kaylan who just happens to be the author of Shell Shocked,  The energetic man on the tambourines is Mark Volman.  The man introducing them was Ed Sullivan.  Getting on the Sullivan show was a huge deal back then.  He was on Sunday nights and owned his time slot. EVERYBODY did that show.


The Turtles sang great songs and as the videos show they had a lot of flare


Howard and Mark have been friends for decades.  The book though is really Howard’s story.  How he navigated his way through rock stardom, lousy deals with  record companies, drugs, women, marriage, divorce, the end of rock stardom….quite a list, huh?

I was reading along and about halfway through, I wondered how in the Hell he could remember all of the things that happened to him. I swear when I turned the page, he explained it.  He kept a diary since 1968.  I’m still not sure how he found the time to jot all of it down as it was happening.

After the Turtles wound down, there was Frank Zappa bringing Howard and Mark into the Mothers Of Invention. Mark became Flo, Howard became Eddie. Flo and Eddie had several opportunities to do background vocals for T Rex, Alice Cooper, and a host of others.  Their most notable contribution was as backup singers to Bruce Springsteen on Hungry Heart.

Hear them?  They have an unmistakable sound.   Hungry Heart went to #5 on the Billboard charts.

As the book nears the present, Howard seems to have found a lifestyle that suits him.  Every summer, they get together with a few survivors of the old days and do a tour.

This year, Gary Puckett ( Gary Puckett and the Union Gap) , Mark Lindsay (Paul Revere and the Raiders) , Gary Lewis (Gary Lewis and the Playboys)  and Chuck Negron (Three Dog Night) are joining the guys, who have their original band name back.

Back to the book for a minute.  Howard lays out how his life was in a straightforward way.  No apologies.
The book is as messy as rock and roll at its best can be.  It was one hell of a ride and I’m glad he shared it with us.

If you know the music of the Turtles, you are probably wondering why I haven’t mentioned Happy Together yet. It is their most recognizable hit. I think  the lyric is a little sad.  I know it’s sung in a very upbeat way and I love it.  Still it really seems to be about someone wishing for something he isn’t going to achieve.

You listen and see what you think:

I resisted the urge to quote large chunks of the book.  Go buy a copy and read it. I did. Books like this one give me a different perspective on that era and the music from it.  It enhances the  appreciation I have for the music of my youth.

So, thanks to Howard for writing this book and for all the great music.






I have mentioned before  that my wife is from Oklahoma.

Born and raised in the western part of the state, she learned all about watching the weather.  As we have seen it can be brutal.

Our hearts are with those who lost loved ones.  Those who lost their homes. It is so hard to imagine facing that kind of devastation.

Look around your room right now.   What if all of that was gone in just a few terrifying seconds?  What would you do?  How would you start over?

Now, these people are trying to put their lives back together with the media spotlight on them.

“How do you feel?”

“Is there anyway to put it into words?”

I am writing this because one of my followers was amazed at how polite these survivors were to the reporters who, in his words “parachuted” in. Not the first day ones.  The news people who came in for an interesting backdrop.

“Oh, look at how much we care.  We moved our crappy morning show to Moore, Oklahoma. Hooray for us.”

Simple fact of the matter is the voices you hear talking about starting over are what make Oklahoma great.  A lot of them have family roots that stretch back decades.  They live on a beautiful yet unforgiving land.  Ice storms, draught, tornadoes, even thanks to fracking, earthquakes.

They don’t sweat the small stuff.

They will rebuild,with one eye on the western sky, hoping the storms will be less severe next time around.

We wish them well.






George Jones died today.  If your notion of country music only goes back 10 years or so, this post might not be for you.

As people started to react to the news, I noticed there was some surprise at how old George was.  He was 81 but he lived the hell out of those 81 years.

Here is George from 1962:

How cool was that?  Straight forward.  Just a man and his guitar and that incredible voice.  I am an old school country music fan.  That video is such a wonderful example of how country music was delivered on tv back then.

Between that video and this next one, George Jones had a fairly eventful life. All of it was affected by his  drinking. He was called “No Show” because of the gigs he missed due to his dedication to the bottle.

There is a funny/sad story of the day his second wife hid all the keys to their vehicles so George could not drive to the liquor store.  Undeterred, he drove his riding mower into town.

All that living like a country song was hard on him and the people around him, both personally and professionally. As he did battle with his demons and his popularity began to suffer, a song was brought to his attention. He hated the song.  It was too morbid. It took forever to get a decent take of it.

Trust me though on this.  There was not a jukebox worth  its salt that didn’t have this song on it.

This was released just before  the Urban Cowboy craze took hold.  Bars made room for mechanical bulls. Guys who had no business wearing cowboy hats were wearing them everywhere. There was a surge in the popularity of country music thanks to the movie.

Maybe it takes a lifetime of hard living to deliver a performance like this one:

That song cemented George Jones as a legend in country music.

He was in the middle of a tour when his health failed him.

I didn’t mention his marriage to Tammy Wynette.  She was a country music superstar and her song “Stand By Your Man” is known by all. Three notes in, you know what is coming. George and Tammy had a daughter, Georgette.  She is a singer and made a video with her Dad from a song she wrote.

I think this is a nice way to end this post.

RIP Possum





Friday Potpourri Vol. 20

Roger Ebert died Thursday.

He made movie reviewing interesting along with his friend and colleague, Gene Siskel.  They had a long running tv show until Gene’s death several years ago.

They had a real passion for movies. As is evidenced by this clip:

My only complaint about Roger and his reviews was that you couldn’t really read one before you saw the movie.  He almost always gave away too much.

His last piece for the Chicago Sun-Times was two days ago.  It was filled with future plans.  I won’t quote from it here.  If you see it linked to on the internet, you should take a moment and read it.

In other news, I watched Lawrence O’Donnell’s show on MSNBC Thursday night.  He was touting the fact that Martin Short was going to be on.  I love Martin Short.  He is wildly funny. Quick and clever.  I thought this would be great.

Turned out there was a slight problem, Lawrence didn’t know how to get out of the way and let Martin do his stuff.

The last segment was supposed to be Martin Short talking about the late night talk show shuffle.

Instead, Lawrence spent most of it showing clips of Leno and Fallon.

I was outraged and took my complaint to Twitter where I said the following, “I like how Lawrence showed Martin Short  clips of other people attempting humor. He would show Rembrandt Bob Ross videos.”

Followed by this tweet,”Watch Rembrandt! See, he puts a tree wherever he wants.  Oops, we ran out of time to watch you paint.”

I shouldn’t be surprised  that an NBC station wouldn’t recognize the potential for comedy.

One last thing. I was looking at the obituaries as we old folks do, when a name popped up from my childhood.

My first babysitter passed away this week.  Sue lived next door to us with her family. I guess she was in high school when she babysat for us. The obit listed her age as 66 so she was ten years older than me.

She was always good with us. Always smiling.

I don’t remember seeing her after we moved away from there. So it was interesting to see that she had raised six kids of her own.  She had ten grandchildren. Worked at General Electric for 32 years. 66 is just too young to go.  You invest all that time in raising a family, there should be time to sit back and enjoy it.

She probably wouldn’t be amused that the people who wrote her obit spelled her maiden name three different ways. Or maybe, she would.

Anyway, you kids keep breathing. I can’t afford to lose any of you.



First of all, as all homeowners know, the weekend is the favorite time to have something go wrong in the house.  For us, it was the refrigerator.  Not our main one. We have one that came with the house  which holds all the pop, milk,  and juice.

The freezer compartment was working, but the fridge part war getting warmer by the minute.

What to do?  Get on the internet and Google for help.

The fascinating part of searches for repair help is how technical the help offered is.

For example, several YouTube videos explained my options.  All couched in terms suggesting maybe calling professionals might be the best course of action.

Honestly, they were making things more complicated than necessary.  I took some advice my Dad gave me years ago.  I waited a little to think it over and then decided on a course of action. (Actually, he would sit and have a beer.  I don’t drink anymore, so I just sit and think.)(And watch tv, play with my grandson)

I told my wife I was going to unplug it and let it thaw out completely.  She gently suggested that it wasn’t like rebooting a computer.

Armed with that boost in my confidence, I proceeded with the plan.

First, I had to clean off the coils under the fridge. (Always unplug the fridge first.) I was surprised to find a thick layer of dirt had encased the coils.  They need to be relatively clean for them to do their jobs.  It took a little knuckle-scraping to reach far enough back to clear the coils.

A few hours after letting the fridge thaw completely, it was time to test the theory.

When I plugged it back in the first thing I noticed was how quiet it ran.  The fan was turning but it wasn’t struggling like it had been.  I let it go overnight and when I checked it in the morning both compartments were running just like they should.

Total cost of repair:  $2.08 for a bottle scrubber to reach and clean the coils.

The other thing we did recently was fill out the brackets for March Madness.

As of right now, Thursday night, I am crushing both of my opponents. Sorry wife and son. (not sorry)

One other thing, Amy of Lucys Football fame, has written a very moving post on her blog.  It is an open letter to Jane Doe, the victim of  a brutal rape by a couple of young men in Steubenville, OH.  I have toyed with writing something about that.  After reading Amy’s post all I can do is point to the blogroll at the right and ask you to take a few minutes to read her words. It was a brave thing for her to write considering all the vicious people who have verbally attacked anyone who defends the victim.  Very brave.

Until next time,


Friday Potpourri Vol. 19


Doesn’t a cruise sound like fun?  Lido decks. Gopher and Issac.

It’s all fun and games and Charo until the power goes out.  Then you have 4000 people stranded at sea without adequate plumbing alternatives.  Low on food and patience.

Five days floating in the Gulf Of Mexico, I can’t begin to imagine the stench.

But, the final indignity was yet to come.  As they were tugged into port, who was waiting for them?  Erin Burnett and the CNN cameras.

How did you feel?

What was it like?

CNN went all in on their coverage of the disembarking.   Understandable, since Jeff Zucker is in charge at CNN now.  He used to run the Today Show which means fluff and filler is his specialty.

It took three hours to clear the ship of passengers.  They were allowed to keep the bathrobes the cruise provides in the cabins.

I just read that they got full refunds, paid transportation back to the point where the trip started and $500.00 in cash.

That won’t stop the flurry of lawsuits which always follow something like this.

That was an interesting way to spend Valentine’s Day.

If you survived the cruise ship, the next thing in the news might have given you pause.

A giant thing from space was hurtling toward the Earth.

Something landed in Russia and it was caught on dashcams.

Former baseball player Jose Canseco said on Twitter that it was not a meteor but something fired from North Korea.  Since Mr. Canseco is not a former scientist, I believe we can dismiss his claim.  At least, for now.

I tried to not get very invested in that.  You know, what can you do?  If it hits it hits.

Finally, since it was Valentines Day, here is one of my favorite songs.

(Two embedded videos?  Yeah, I am embracing this new ability.)


Until next time,




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