My brother Chris and I drank a special toast to Ma.
We were interrupted Thursday night as we relaxed at the patio table in Chris' backyard, enjoying some brotherly reminiscences and good-natured kibitzing after my arrival at his home in Ohio.
"Your mother just jumped off the shelf and shattered her frame," sister-in-law Marge announced from the doorway.
Our mother's picture had lived on that dining room shelf "forever," Marge answered to my question. She swore that it hadn't been touched or moved for months, and when it crashed to the floor no one was anywhere near it.
Didn't impress Chris and me much at the moment - stuff falls off counters and shelves all the time.
But after a few beers and bumps, and a generosity of wine in the twilight, we convinced ourselves that Ma was trying to join us, so we humored her and invited her to sit with us for awhile, and we shared wonderful memories and laughs.
The next day Chris and I drove an hour to visit the grave of Ma and Dad in an amazingly pleasant country cemetery. It was only my second visit - I was there about 35 years ago shortly after Dad was buried.
We didn't stay very long. Didn't have to. It was a powerfully beautiful experience and a peaceful moment for the heart.

My buddy took me to a great store here in Raleigh, North Carolina where I ran out of money before my time was up. I came away with a huge barrel smoker with wheels that required a fork lift to load into my truck. I'll need some help from friends to get that baby out to the palace and assembled.
In addition we each bought propane cookers and some very hearty cast iron kettles. Here are two of them - a three gallon and a five gallon kettle. Not shown here is the eight gallon one I'll also be taking out to camp.
Just to get started we deep fried a batch of cauliflower and a kettle of chili. We purposely chose the low calorie/low fat options, as we have already been barbequeing a few other treats during the past few days.
My friend weighed himself this morning and determined that he has gained five pounds since I arrived here a few days ago. I lucked out because I didn't step on the scale and am able to declare I haven't gained any.

Today Andy Ward and I had lunch together in Oxford, North Carolina.
Andy is the guy in the back row of the group photo, between the doors, wearing glasses. I'm fifth from the left in the second row. We were fifth grade classmates in 1954, in Danville, Vermont.
Andy and I were great boyhood pals, fishing for brook trout mornings before school, romping the fields and forests exploring and searching for rabbits to shoot with our BB guns. We made cider one time at his father's farm with an old fashioned press that you screwed down to squish the juice out of the apples by turning a big ring that looked like the steering wheel on a greyhound bus.
Andy is the only boy I ever knew who actually got shot in the eye with a BB, thanks to Roy Vance, a fellow classmate. He missed a couple weeks of school and had to wear a patch over his eye for awhile over that mishap.
Andy still lives in Vermont, but now spends a few winter months in southern Virginia. He and I have seen each other only once in the last 59 years since my family (dragging me screaming and protesting) moved away from Vermont.
Recently we realized my visit with an old high school buddy from Ohio, now living in Raleigh, North Carolina, would put me about an hour away from Andy's winter hideout.
Immediately, we picked out a meeting spot, established a day and time, and agreed to meet at Sunrise Biscuits for a late breakfast.
We both arrived there, a minute apart, 15 minutes earlier than our appointment, and embarked on a most marvelous reunion during the next couple hours. It's exquisite to have Andy as a friend, and mighty precious to spend a little time together.
And, it's most surprising that we look now, just as we did almost 60 years ago.

If customs people kept lists of the most hopeless dorks they encounter, I think I would place high on the roster.
Today the officer asked if I owned the truck I was driving and after telling him "yes" I understood his next question to be, "How much insurance are you carrying?"
That was a new one. I've never been asked that. And I didn't know the answer off hand. After a short hesitation I told him, "I'm not sure, exactly. I think between a million and five million dollars."
I wasn't sure what to make of his expression. It was certainly one of shock and astonishment, and it kind of scared me.
After a long hesitation, he asked me very slowly and clearly, "How much cash are you carrying? We have a special interest in people crossing the border with more than $10,000."
He must have thought at first that he had a big catch, and was puzzling over just what it was he had caught.
We eventually agreed I was carrying about $700 cash and I wasn't wearing my hearing aids and had misunderstood his question.

A sweet November sunset sip surrounded by summer's lingering pansies. It doesn't get much more loving.

What is it about wine and a wife in the hot tub on a freezing November night that turns a sensible man into a selfie snapping maniac?
Blame it on the sunset, I guess.