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ALl kinbds of last-minute headaches on a big project the last couple of days … I’ve got to present an oraganization’s new website to the general membership Tuesday and all-of-a-sudden the database running the bulleting board is gone! Fortunately, it’s backed up and fixed. And the programmer not being far along is making me nervous. I don’t want an equivalent of the “Blue Screen of Death” when I get on stage!

Anyway, I watched as my Berreta was carted away on a man’s flat-bed in Otto yesterday. I didn’t cry. But I felt like it. It’s off to be touched up, some repairs, and resale to a loving home. Oh, well. I’m so glad it isn’t junked just yet. Life is so short. For all of us.

Moving on, Chrissie’s recital went off well — it was the best in years, and Merry and I sat through every number. She didn’t appreciate (as in not being able to breathe from trying not to burst out laughing) my comments about the line of little dancers looking like an epileptic centipede when the DDT kicked in. The reference to the screaming worm in the Simpsons didn’t help either. But it really was a good recital, and only two numbers offended my sensibilities with jazz moves to rock and modern dance music. They were still good performers, but would be laughed off the floor at a dance club for such a thing.

Today, Merry’s at a Tupperware party and I’m off to help Dennis stain his gazebo out back. Promises of grilled food go a long way.