I return from vacation to find that:
The Phillies are back in first place. Didn’t you know the Mets had to crumble? (Note: in many years, to reverse the team names in this sentence would be an accurate rendition of the state of Baseball Nation.)
It’s stinko hot, as it often is in the East in July, and I have a zucchini as big as a (fill in the blank) in my garden, and far bigger than some.
I have 85 emails, after deleting the ones telling me that Zenith is going to elminate my email account unless I send my password immediately.
In my absence, and in the middle of the night, someone tried to steal the copper down spouting from the Castle, only to be foiled because New President or one of his family members heard suspicious noises. Apparently, Zenith maintenance wants to replace the damaged down spouts with PVC pipe , but they can talk to the historical commission about that one, baby.
I am determined to retool my golf skills so that there is at least one sport I can do with my teenage nephew. It was supposed to be tennis, but my orthopaedic surgeon has banned me from running, twisting, pounding and turning on hard surfaces. And yet, I used to be a formidable golfer in my youth (it’s true), and although it is an embarrassing skill for a Radical to have, I think I can revive it for the sake of a sports-smitten boy.
There is still three weeks before I have to turn to schooling the young. Make the most of it, all of you.