Sunday

The hedge along the northern perimeter of Chez Sarge.

While I'm writing this on Saturday evening, you all will be reading this on Sunday, for that is when it will be published. If I make mistakes with my tenses, that will be my excuse. (Note that I didn't say "y'all" in that first sentence. As I'm not from the South I felt it would be pretentious of me to use "y'all." That's an observation, not a judgement. Uncle Sam's Aim High Society taught me to write like I speak. Well, how I'd speak if my Mother is listening, otherwise this here blog would no doubt score an "R" rating for adult language.)

Today is the day that The Missus Herself heads out West to California to await the birth of grandchild number four. We already know that the baby is a girl through the wonders of modern medicine.

So of course the Navy, in their infinite wisdom, made sure that Big Time would not be at home for the birth of his and The WSO's second child. Rush, rush, rush, it's off to Sandy Eggo you must go so that you may accompany your mighty flattop out to sea.

Except of course that the boat is broken and won't be going to sea just yet. Can Big Time head back to the ranch? Nope, it is forbidden, the furthest they can travel is 200 miles, one of those "just in case" we need you measures. As you may have already guessed, Chez Big Time et WSO lies much further off than 200 miles.

The WSO informed me that she was entertaining the idea of heading down to Point Mugu, where there is a naval installation, for to meet up with hubby, Point Mugu lies just at the outer range of travel from Sandy Eggo.

I asked her if she planned on keeping the CHP informed that they would need an obstetrician standing by for to deliver the newest addition to the tribe. She informed me that "it was just an idea Dad, don't panic." As the apple falls not far from the tree it was not so much panic I felt but a sinking feeling that it sounded like something I would have done in my youth. Therefore I had a feeling she might actually try that.

But no, in matters of common sense The WSO takes after her Mom. Thank the Lord!

So today (tomorrow from my perspective) I must arise at the butt crack of dawn and transport my better half to the local airport for a flight which will take a long time. The way I look at it is, of course, that I will need to take care of myself while she's away. Instructions have been left, food has been prepared and placed in cryostorage for later use and I am mentally prepared to have little human contact over the next week or so.

So if my blog posts next week seem to consist of hissing, meowing and purring, that's not me, it just means that I let the cats have at the computer. I'm sure Google Translate can handle the feline dialect.

Anya has registered her objections.

Then again, I think I can retain my English by watching Netflix and interacting with the folks at Dunkin' Donuts and the grocery store.

We shall see.