I'm writing this whilst sitting in my favorite over-stuffed reclining chair, in front if my favorite 47" HighDef TV. I woke up on this very wet, very late-winter day and realized I was STILL RETIRED. Imagine. No reason to get up, none at all. The fat tiger cat, Ms. Puss, even curled up next to me, expecting the best--a long sleep in with the 'ole man.
Then I remembered Terry is off to Atlanta this morning and I needed to see her off and haul her luggage out to the car (in the rain, in my pajamas--the least I could do). And I also remembered it was St. Patrick's Day. The fountain at the White House was to be turned green and there it was, on Morning Joe--bubbling green. I missed seeing it by three days when I was in D.C. I was wandering around that city last week and took this photo of O'Bama's new house (any mortgage worries? Whadyya think?) but the bubbles were pure white. Had I known, I might have hung around a bit longer (Actually no, the hotel is way to expensive). It turns out that Mr. O'Bama's great-great-great grandfather was, truly, Irish. Everyone on Morning Joe seemed pleased by this revelation. I plan on bellying up to the nearest Irish pub myself this P.M. and lifting a pint (of Guinness) for my favorite Irishman. In any event, here's a green-tinged poster of The Man himself. I took the picture in D.C. just after I took the disappointing none-green-water one of the White House.
Meanwhile, the political games in D.C. continue undaunted by the Irish sending a real leprechaun to meet with our Prez. There he was standing chubby and oh, so green, next to O'Bama, and speaking with a perfect leprechaun's brogue and thanking the U.S. for always standing by when the Emerald Isle needed us. You're indeed welcome. Now, how about doing something for us? A trillion dollars ought to do it. Or maybe you can arrange for us to find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.