“Buenas Diazes,” dear readers. For the uninitiated, that’s Mexican-speak for “good morning”. And that it is. I’m sitting here drinking my coffee listening to the patter of little footsteps as Derek marches up and down my front walk. He’s doing a splendid job guarding my property in his position as the Secretary of my Home Land’s Security. As a matter of fact, I heard him yelling at some trespassing hooligans just this very morning.
One person that I’m going to tell him to be on the lookout for is my son Brian. His access to my property has now been restricted. You see, last night he decided to drop in uninvited. Doesn’t he realize that it gets dark now by 5:00? Once it gets dark, that makes it socially unacceptable for visiting, just like it did in the old days. Then we had words. Our conversation, as I remember it, went like this:
Brian: You have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m going to take you to see that doctor again so he can have you committed. (in not so many words, of course)
The Codger: You and your counter-cultural values! You don’t have any respect for my generation, which is greater than yours.
Brian: Have you been taking your medicine? You have to take more medicine.
The Codger: What are you, some kind of pill-pusher? Get off my property. Derek, please escort Brian off my property.
Brian: I’ll be back.
Until next time!