Yah Cayent Geht Thayah Fhum Hayyah

Everyone seemed to like my garden yesterday, so you get more pitchas; and I get to knock off early today, and accomplish a fatherly and achieve a paternalistic and break the daddified tape and so forth without much additional effort. The search for lack of additional effort required is a mark of the breed.

  So reader and writer and all-around swell guy westsoundmodern commented yesterday:

Sheesh! From the way you’ve described the place in the winter, I had in my minds eye a vision of standing at the north pole and turning a 360.

Okey dokey, Butch. Let’s say you’ve got vision, and the rest of the world wears bifocals. You go see an abandoned house in Uppastump, Maine, Decemberish, and you look out the back window and see this:

I triple-dog-dare you to do the mental arithmetic that produces this, a year later, in your mind’s eye:

Well, you know me; I deserve a Fields Medal for mental arithmetic, but that’s way, way past my best shot. You need the Rainman love-child of Salvador Dali and Martha Stewart doing your mental arithmetic to get from there to here.

I hope all you dads get sommodiss in your garden today:

Pony up, mom.