If It's Sunday Morning...

I don't know your Sunday morning routine but mine consists of watching the talk shows, listening to the politicians as they make their rounds and state their views. Meet the Press was mandatory. I would be late for church because I just had to hear the response to the question asked by Tim Russert. And if I missed the morning broadcast, I tried to find the rerun that night or during the week.

It wasn't always this way. But there was something about Russert's style, his refusal to give them a free pass (answer the question, damn it), his fairness, that made the show so enjoyable. And, has been said, he educated the viewer. So I couldn't believe the email alerts announcing his death on Friday. The good die young, the saying goes, and by all related accounts, Russert was a very good man.

This Sunday morning, I watched Meet the Press, relived the moments, and appreciated the tributes and anecdotes shared by his colleagues. That will be a hard seat to fill. God Bless, Tim Russert. We can only wish that our lives will be remembered and honored as well as the legacy you've left behind. GO BILLS.

For your update on the hounds: Big Boy has, indeed, inherited happy feet. And his destructive ways continue. I was awakened from my second snooze by barking on the front lawn, which just didn't make sense. The dogs are in the back. Big Boy is running loose, barking his heart out. Get him around to the back and the collar that was too big has been chewed in half. Couldn't figure that one out at first. Took some time for it to sink in. He'd worked himself loose and then chewed it to bits. Sheez! Two collars in two weeks?

His mama finally conned him into running away with her to check out her hangouts (wherever they may be). She's a slick one. One minute, I'm throwing dog biscuits for them to chase and recover; the next, they are both over the hill and gone. I saw it coming when she made a mad dash away from the dog biscuit. And he was in hot pursuit. No coming back when called this time. So they both spent the night outside. And both were wagging their tails and grinning when I opened the door this morning. I need a fence.

I'm off to mow the lawn, AGAIN. The fog has burned off and maybe the moisture will have evaporated. I planted caladiums, along the fence by the newspaper, with no expectation that they would grow. Noticed a piece of trash by the fence. Not trash at all, but a white caladium. Several others have come up, too. Maybe I can get that plot earth looking the way I want it.


It's Father's Day. Here's hoping that yours is fantastic.

"Fathers, like mothers, are not born.
Men grow into fathers-
and fathering is
a very important stage in their development."
~~By David M. Gottesman.~~