Just barely hot enough to kill a human.

Just barely hot enough for Satan to vacation here.

A couple of weeks ago I got in my car to head home.
The outside temperature reading of my car was 109F. Don't believe me? The picture at the right is the thermostat on my meat smoker. It sits in the shade at the rear of my house in a screened enclosure, and I hadn't been smoking anything when this picture was taken.

Florida is hot, but that's much hotter than normal. I'm considering turning the hatch of the Prius into a Dutch oven so that when I get home each evening we can have fresh bread with dinner. Surprisingly there aren't many sources on the internet for this kind of modification.

This Pokemon thing is kind of hilarious to me. Not that I think any less of you if you do find it a worthy passing of time (I have already voiced my opinion on fantasy football). Apparently there is a Gym in front of the office. Folks have been rolling up and either trying to capture or kill our Pokemon(?) Good for them. As long as they aren't running around killing anyone right now I think the collective consciousness is happy.

I've got the creative and philosophical funkies right now. But the site needs to be fed to stay alive, so I've just thumbed through some phone pictures and found one that I think must have a story. Don't skip to the end, you'll ruin it!



"Honey, how do you want to pack this?

Honey?

HONEY!!"

The man almost fell out of his chair as Clair, his wife of 43 years, mother of his 3 children, and grandmother to 6 shouted the question from the other end of their 3 bedroom bungalow. Jimmy had dosed off after a long day of wrapping up the house for vacation. They were making the trek from Maine to Florida to visit their oldest daughter, Gertrude.

The relationship with Gerty had been strained after years of sibling squabbles about who Clair and Jimmy cared for most. It always seemed to come down to finances, but most recently the offences seemed to distill down to whom the aging couple were most willing to spend time with. Gerty, the farthest and youngest of their offspring felt she was owed some attention. And so as they always have and will, the pair planned a reconciliation trip.

The trek to Florida was a notion of good will, the tension in their relationship with their daughter a deciding factor in the choice of driving vs. flying in hopes that she would see the extra effort they afforded her.

Clair and Jimmy had a plan, you see. They had bought a gift for little Chadwick, Gerty's youngest son. If they couldn't find peace with their daughter, they were confident in their ability to win over Chadwick's affections for the long run in the event that Gerty stressed herself into the hospital again.

That Gerty is a mess.

Clair was adamant that the gift be a surprise. A big reveal saved for the latter days of their visit so as to ensure maximum emotional impact on the boy. In this regard, they needed to find a way to conceal the nature of their gift, a challenge they had not anticipated when they purchased it.

When Jimmy was startled awake he suddenly remembered that Clair had asked him weeks ago to find an effective way of transporting and hiding such a magnificent gift. A challenge considering the sheer size of the gift in comparison to the enclosed bed of their Dodge Ram.

No matter. Jimmy, a founding member of the MacGuyver fan club, was sure he could do the job with items already on hand.

"Don't worry darling, I'll take care of it!"

Jimmy hurried into the garage to gather supplies, and in less time than his favorite TV hero would take to fashion a water filter from a used cantaloupe, he returned.

"All done my sweet! Let's go to Florida!"

Go to Florida they did. That's where I found their truck, in the parking lot of Bass Pro Shops in Orlando.

Little Chadwick will never guess what Bubbie and Banpa have brought him.

Is it a Bicycle, Banpa!?