Dang me.
Here we are. Another late Spring arrives in the middle of freaking nowhere. Birds are singing, grass is growing, the underemployed ice cream vendor is driving a superannuated truck up your street, playing "Pop goes the weasel" (or 4 bars of it). Life is good. I don't know if you've ever lived in an abandoned Hammer Mill in upstate New York over the course of the coldest winter anybody can remember. I mean, damn! We were frozen solid, stuck in the ice for five whole months. The bill collectors had to come after us with ice picks. Visitors from Neptune had to go home half way through their stay - THAT'S how cold it was. (How cold was it? Well ... ) So hey ... when a little warm weather comes this way, it's a big deal. Everyone is starting to get into their temperate habits. The mansized tuber has been arranging flower pots. Before you ask, no ... he does not have a green thumb. They are both "suburban titanium". He just plays with clay pots - stack...