blotter stuff

The Cabinet Man is alive and well, has not been interned for reeducation by his anointed betters in Maryland for dissing their CCW process, and is considering a new main battle rifle. Please show him the love in the comments section, readers, to encourage him to post something new.

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You might be interested to know that we named our children according to a system. This system was not laid down in advance so much as the order emerged, and as more children were added we noticed which rules were laid down and followed them.

At least one name, first or middle, is taken from someone else in the family. No surprise there.

Girls' names follow a rhythm of dah dit dit dah ("open the door") and boys' follow dah dit dah dit ("have a cookie").

Firstborn's non-family-originated name was after my second-grade teacher.

Middlechild's non-family-originated name is from B. B. King's guitar.

Both of Boy's names are from family, either my grandfather or Barbaloot's father. We thought he'd be an only boy (hence "Boy") and the double family name.

Oh we were mistaken. Toad gets a middle name from my father.

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The Fûzboat is being replaced. At 100k miles and an irreparable transaxle leak, its movements are easily traced by satellite. It leaves "C"-shaped puddles of warm cherry-red oil wherever it is parked. Much of this oil also is blown back to the catalytic converter, where it turns to smoke. We think the leak comes from an axle seal damaged when we slid the front curb-side wheel into a curb on a patch of ice. It put a nice crack in the transaxle case too, but another Twenty-first Century shmoo, J-B Weld, closed that up handily.

Rather than face the nasty one-time hit of depreciation that comes with driving a new car off the lot, we're pricing cars from a rental fleet. Hello Malibu. Or Intrepid. Or Impala. Or Taurus. I'm torn.

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Toad carries around about 12 pounds and is round, full, and very smiley. He gives us six hours of uninterrupted sleep, and it's time to reassemble the crib in Boy's room for him.

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I make up stories to tell my daughters as I drive them around to swimming lessons, occupational therapy, or a grocery trip. Firstborn asks for a Wise Turkey story. They are made up on the spot ("It was on an evening just like this one, in early spring, a cold night after two very warm ones . . . "). The very first Wise Turkey story took several grocery trips and a Christmas shopping trip or two to tell, and carries an epic quality. Unfortunately it will be difficult to recall and post here, but I'll try.

Maybe Mamamontezz would be up for illustrating them?

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Speaking of illustrating, I visited a Barnes and Noble at the Mall of America last weekend, prior to returning from a TDY at Undisclosed Combat Readiness Training Center, and scanned the Art section. I grabbed one on drawing manga. Firstborn is fascinated.