How Helicopters Work

Maple tree seeds, that is.  I thought they needed to touch soil or even be buried in it to do their thing, but I was wrong.  They can sprout while suspended over the soil and send a root down to the ground.  Like a metal helicopter lowering a life line, but here the lifeline is saving the helicopter.  Wow.  See Frida’s tail by my finger?  If there was a tree that dropped big fuzzy dog tail seeds, I’d plant one in a heartbeat.

Badminton net is up and volleying happened.  A still life of repose.

BBQ lunch (ribz and potato salad thanks to Vegan Diner).  

Lacey and Frida abused the dignity of digital photography.

Our sister in law brought us a personalized totem pole made by my brother in law.   Talented fellow!  I don’t know why Lacey is holding two chickens–artistic license or premonition?  I want a brown shirt with big gold polka dots and green pants.  This is something that might need to be sewn rather than bought.

Last evening Mahar’s bestowed upon us two nice beers from Olde Burnside Brewing (East Hartford, Connecticut).  A Ten Penny Ale (five penny ale was herstorically the standard brew, so ten penny ale was the special stuff) and a Dirty Penny Ale (their Ten Penny Ale mixed with some of their stout–a black and tan).  Both delightfully low in alcohol and delicious.  The brewer started as a seller of ice.  They are sitting over an aquifer with delicious water.  They even sell the water to folks.  The proprietors asked customers buying large quantities of water what they were doing with it.  Their reply was “brewing beer!”  The proprietors got in on the act, and I am glad they did.

Today we pedaled to the Olde English Pub for pints.  We have a friend whose wife told us he hates the English (his ancestors were Irish).  I am glad I don’t have a group of people I hate.  If there was such a group, a member of it would open a really wonderful pub and I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it.  Not to make light of other people’s feelings, but instead to celebrate an open heart (and mug).  But wait.  While I don’t hate the people who open and work at restaurants that serve animals (as food), I am increasingly unwilling to patronize places offering next to nothing for compassionate diners.  French fries and whisky used to be enough, but more recently I register a mild offense when places don’t offer a variety of critter free entrees.  Salads and sides don’t count.  Pastas maybe count if they are super awesome (but they so rarely are–being designed to derive most of their flavor from cheese).  The world knows we exist.  To make a menu that doesn’t offer us much or anything is just unwelcoming.  Harrumph.

Where was I?  We each had Middle Age’s Old Marcus and shared our first and last bag of Walker’s Tomato Ketchup chips.  Golly these chips are good.  Why did they need to add whey?

I think we’ve done enough for one day.  I hope Lacey agrees.  I am ready to sit still.

Later!

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