Today would’ve been the Old Coot’s 90th. He didn’t quite make it that far, he followed The Engineer over to the other side a few years ago. I decided to do this post as a podcast, so to speak. Why? No really good reason. The long answer is a convoluted story about being forced to specify a Christmas gift other than a dumpster in the driveway. The short answer is “because I can”. I used to hate to hear my obnoxious voice but I’ve gotten used to it and I just don’t care any more. Happens when you get to be an old bag. You can click on the little thermometer (that’s octo-speak for audio player) to here hear me blather about the photos a bit and you can click on the thumbnail photos to make ’em pop up in bigger windows. A transcript (more or less) of the “podcast” is below the photos in case you can’t make the little thermometer work. Oh, and it is my childhood friend Mimi’s birthday too! I saw her a few weeks ago after umpteen million years and I couldn’t believe that she remembered that! I don’t think she reads this or even knows about it but happy birthday Mimi! She is nowhere near 90 and I hope she is celebrating in appropriate style.

Updated to say that I have *not* heard ice clinking tonight and I think that is because – duuuuhhhh – Valdemort’s graduation from MSU is today and I know that’s where those guys are!! Yay!!

   (my voice drones on for approximately 2 minutes, 40 seconds)

Transcript, more or less: Today is the day the old coot would’ve been 90. He didn’t make it and I won’t go into that in too much detail here except to say that he was just about the toughest old coot on earth.

You can click on those thumbnail photos there to make ’em bigger.

The 1st one on the left there is the old coot walking along his beach with his stick. He used a walking stick all the time but I’m not so sure he needed it so much for walking as to fend off wayward aminals. A habit he got from tromping around in the woods as a young man.

Next, he’s sitting in his favorite rocking chair watching freighters go up and down the upper river and having a little snort. Lawn furniture is beautiful for the inside of the cabin.

And there he is by the fire in “Grandma’s other house, the real house, where she lives some of the days,” as a certain toddler I once knew called it. She had it all figured out. She knew where grandma kept the button collection and she called the door to the garage “Jack’s Door” ’cause her grandaddy was always going out to the garage. That’s not the old coot’s dog there, it’s my brother’s dog but he was an old man too by then. They make a good pair, don’t they.

And then there was the dog food incident. The sun was over the yardarm and all of the hens were cackling so much that nobody remembered that the Old Coot needed a little snack. But wait! There was a little bowl with what looked an awful lot like a snack in it so he ate it. A dog treat! He also has a “summer” hair cut there which the Commander was totally disgusted with.

And finally, a siting. There’s The Old Coot walking with The Engineer at the end of the beach. I think that they are up to no good and I expect I’ll hear ice cubes clinking around a little later here at the Landfill.

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