and the Handsome Man is back in business as my weatherman, measuring precip after a beautiful, rainless summer.

You may notice that he’s sporting a new hairdo this season.

Feel free to plagiarize it. I did.

Negative thoughts will sink you like a ship. Waterproof your mind against them. Laughter, levity, beauty, fun, excitement, starry dreams — all of these will leak-proof your boat. (And don’t forget to put your feet up, wear a flotation device, and keep a nice dog close at hand.)

Riley came down from Bend to spend the weekend with us at 1880 while his mama drove on to the coast for a nice stay with friends.  Roxie loved having such a nice visitor and really enjoyed the special toy Riley brought her.

Rosie, not so much. (She spent much of the time pouting in her room.)

At first, Riley stood hopefully by the front door, through which his mama had departed.

But pretty soon, he chose his favorite spot, in spite of the fact that he had brought his own bed and blankies.

And at night, he chose this location:

As Wanda says, “Riley is a companion dog.”

Earlier this week the SJ reported that 95% of Oregonians have healthcare insurance.  I found this hard to believe, so I put the question to my best source for accuracy who checked it out and reported back that this is accurate.  “It’s an amazing statistic and, yes  .  .  .   it’s true . . . and it’s largely as a result of the Medicaid expansion.”  Here is good!

Ya’ll know I am a pacifist.  I don’t like loud voices or violence of any kind for any reason.

I changed over time.  I am a War Baby.  I was born into a milieu that believed war was valiant and glorious and which taught us giving naughty children a smack was part of a parent’s job.

Then came wars that were not about us and that never brought peace and never ended, and I came to oppose military action and hitting altogether.  I evolved.

Now, I may just be continuing to evolve in regard to the military action part.  All this  abhorrent terrorism seems to be about angry young men, who are like street gangs with global proportions and really big sticks.  I’m sure their mothers did the best they could, but jeeze!  No deity condones what they are doing, supposedly in his name.

I was very surprised at myself when I pumped my fist — a gesture I generally find offensive  in any situation — when I heard we had fired on and hit micro-targets that were strongholds of these naughty boys.   Just think.  We had done our due diligence.  Our intelligence knew where these targets were.  We had ships at the ready, far away in the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf, missiles accurately aimed.  I felt proud — and I am not proud of myself for feeling that way.  What can I say.  I was a War Baby.