Introducing Puck

This is my wee future biographer, and namesake. (I imagine he will want to know who he was named after and after a little google investigation will become very curious about this humpty dumpty man.) (Plus, by then I'll already be somewhat famous just for my public speaking at various chautauquas).

He is my phooka's son, and therefore I guess he's a puck, or possibly a boga. You can't tell by the picture neccesarily but in person he takes on the appearence of the ideal baba. Perfectly formed, good natured, serene old soul.

"Oogi goo wabi googie, ba gada dadada!" he comments. 'Let me say this about that', he is saying in baba slang. 'It's all good.'

I guess what you do is put aside 1/4 of your crop for him and all is well forever and ever.



His mother is very intelligent and I think you can tell by this picture that he is too.

"Look. I'm ready. And you all just stand there talking. Closing the door soon?"

When he looks at me I kinda jump and then go :-| and :-D, with embarrasment. Like it's me who's got him into this world, like I know what's up. Nuh, uh. I met your mama when you were already on the way. Conjured her up, I think sometimes.

Florie has to fight for the Puck. Long sad story. I'm on her side, knowing all the details both from her and from third parties.

All in all it's been a fast week, and I'm reflecting that life is unfairly easy for me. There was some yin, there was some yang. My scar is coming along nicely, refusing to heal, looking more like there was a scuffle at a floating craps game.

When the nurse removed the stitches she stepped back and told an aide to go get a doctor.
The doctor came and said go get the doctor who did this.
HAHA, you think I make this up. Then they were all talking to me at once, like they were business people explaining how, now, this happened, but it's not that bad really. They said it may be infected, maybe not, and I got another three weeks worth of anti-biotics at a special mark-up. (Good God, I was planning on spending this money to make Florie's apartment my second media home. And buying a car.) (I'm saying the pills, they are expensive!)

Work blows, though. Even just 28 hours spread lightly over six days, it leaf blows. I'm not even in the main coliseum with the stitchers and inserters, and the racket is somehow always on it's way to an uproar. Very aggravating if you let it aggravate you, which you mustn't. Today I was thinking again: 40 hours here, no sir, I wouldn't like it. (Another drawback is that I will have to give up Returns if I go full time, for some reason. I'd be on line every day, all day, shifting my weight from one leg to the other turning my will over to God over and over.

I've just recieved a call from Florie. She wants to know how much Droopy I can find in the vaults of You Tube. I think that's a fine idea. I've already found another episode of Red Dwarf for her too. But for now we both work and can't have our late nights.

New York Times to Topeka Day, tomorrow, then a day off for me. Maybe not for her. She always recites her schedule for me a whole five days ahead at least, and I'm only asking about tomorrow and stop listening. They change her schedule a lot anyway, always adding more hours it seems.

Makes her happy, which makes me happy, though perplexed.

thanks for visiting, then!