Aftermath

 

I was kind of lonely and blue yesterday, missing Twisp on the holiday. I went to the Thursday ukulele group just to get out of the house, expecting hardly anyone there, but we had a full group and a blast on the patio of C&P Coffeehouse.

I sat next to Cecil, who celebrated his 100th birthday this year and still going strong, driving his car way across town. He carries a case of harmonicas and plays solos on some of the songs. Cecil is a real sharp dresser, especially known for his shoes, and he had just bought himself a new pair, God bless him.

Now where does a gentleman find footwear like that in Seattle? John is dropping hints he needs some new (rather old-mannish) Rockport walking shoes for his birthday. I think he should have these to wear to the Symphony.

 

Parts of the region are covered with a fug of firework smoke this morning. They were setting off those awful firecracker bombs until 3 am across the street at the school. I don't understand the fun in fireworks that aren't at least pretty. But then I'm not a teenage boy. 

The night went by like slow torture-- as soon as you dozed off another one went off. The man of the house slept through the entire thing.