Explanations, excuses and apologies

I love anagrams. Most of the names I use blogging are anagrams for the real name. Sharp cookies in the use of search engines, like Mrs. Yak, have likely identified the real name of my dead assistant, who I refer to as Adelle. You can still read some newspaper accounts online, but they are not as scintillating as my "behind the scenes" look.

I am back in my office having spent the last two days at home finishing up the new copper plumbing supply system I built, and tearing out all the old corroded galvanized pipe. I love my Ryobi reciprocating saw - cuts through those pipes like butta. The water pressure is now where it should be: at full force the shower will peel the skin off your back.

After I return a few calls, wade through a mound of paper and go for coffee with Tom and Betsy (and maybe Patrick) I hope to get back to the narrative.

But first, an apology. Thoreau said that tradition is a more interrupted and feebler memory. Well, my feeble memory interrupted a fine and longstanding tradition, and I feel terrible. For years I faithfully sent a package of Peeps to the YB of the SC every Easter season. Several times in the last month I thought, "gotta get those Peeps." Sunday morning I realized that no Peeps had been sent. The chain has been broken, and likely all sorts of bad things will befall me. This is my public apology, and I am sorry. Very sorry.