Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,
I never knew anyone who said groovy. I certainly didn't use the word myself.
But I thank you for your kind comments on my last post. They moved me to tears––of a good kind.
It's raining very hard. When we heard thunder a few minutes ago, two unhappy puppies skittered away to hide behind the furniture, but first, a certain little penguin who wants to fly pooped in the living room.
Accidents happen. Before you know it, I'll probably take a shit wherever I happen to be, and the dogs will clean up after me.
We had glorious weather on Sunday, though. It was the kind of December day that makes me love living in Florida. The sun shone. Temperature 75 with low humidity.
Franklin and I enjoyed a stroll to the park, while Favorite Young Man worked on his bicycle.
Over Thanksgiving weekend, he transformed the bike's dull, pale blue into the hot pink you see here.
The latest addition is a water bottle holder, along with the bottle, of course. The little, silver torpedoes are compressed air so he can make flats disappear without carrying a more cumbersome tire kit.
Happy Trails, FYM!
Infinities of love,