|Gus, "Ya frozed your little, hairless ar*es, didn't ya!?"|
|Charlie, "Don't panic - I'm flaunting my black and whiteness."|
|Gus, "I got your little plans right here, hoomin!"|
|Charlie, "Bun noir being bun noir."|
Crispy, blue skies and proper, winter cold. At least, "proper cold" for La Florida. Our hoomin did manage to catch up on loafing. He kinda had to. Trying to put January behind you get trying. Of course, it revolves around us, and nothing gets between us and the morning cookie rituals. He realized today that trying to satisfy our cravings is like containing a pellet of burning plasma in nuclear fusion. It takes an astronomical concentration of digestives to achieve that level of containment and contentment.
Take this morning, for example. He tried to work on a lesson plan dealing with Automatic Direction Finder and Non-Directional Beacon. Navigating by an ADF is a form of ancient witchcraft. Only a few grizzled aviators, who survived more scrapes with eternity and whatnots than your average ace can ever comprehend, know its ways. And there we were - swirling, enchanting, and demanding ours every time he as much as blinked.
Good night, and good luck!