More San Antonio

 

San Fernando Cathedral

old court house

under the Riverwalk bridges

yes, that's a bar

tiles embedded into a bench on the river

 

Just a Matter of Time

I needed to take a clock in for repair, and brought it into the local--and indeed only--clock repair shop. Always a delight; the guy is friendly and talkative and some of the repaired clocks, waiting to go back to their owners, are an amazing sight.

 

I'm Back!

I was in San Antonio for my little get-away, playing the trailing spouse whilst my adorable Poopsie was hobnobbing with his fellow wizards at an august legal gathering. There are many beautiful things to see there, especially the famed river walk which, though heavily commercialized in part, retains its beauty throughout. Here are some pix; more to follow...

 

Spa Days!

As you can well imagine, being a global despot bent on world domination can be taxing, especially at my age. So I've scheduled a few spa days at a rodentine retreat. I need to get the roots of my fur touched up and my cute little pink nose moisturized, and the massages by the staff of Laotian guinea pigs are to die for. Do carry on without me for a few days whilst I replenish.

 

I'm Not the Only One...

 who likes to sleep in (Brit. lie in) around here.

In case you're wondering, this little darling's name is "Townie", so called because I bought him in Georgetown, but we already had a pet named George (a European hedgehog from Yorkshire).  It's a good story: the shop has just recently opened and in I walk, take one look, and say "I'll take the sheep."  The woman behind the counter was delighted, but said she didn't have a bag big enough for the cute little rascal.  So I simply tucked him under my arm, walked down the sidewalk, got on a bus to the Metro station, and took the train home. Not a word was said, and barely a long glace given.  Life in the big city, they've seen weirder.

A Piece of My Mind

The other evening, my mind was wandering about, as it tends to do, and it started thinking about memories. Memories have been on and off my mind of late, probably a function of my skidding gracefully into decrepitude. I then jumped into the odd question of just how many memories I posses. I quickly turned away from that realizing that memories do not come in quantifiable units, and almost every memory is part of a larger enveloping memory, so let’s not go down that path.

So then I pondered that all those perhaps millions or billions of memories (depending on how you count the uncountable) were all sitting in my adorable little brain. A whole lifetime, whether I remember it or not, is sitting in a damp, electrified ball of pudding.

I mean, think if it. Desire, passion, enmity; the Hobbit and Quantum Mechanics; Plato, Michelangelo, Mother Teresa, and a whole bunch of unsavory types; pirates and popes, all emanating from this wet, grey, lump of something or another and its wiring. How on earth did that happen? The thing even found a way of preserving little pieces of itself via writing, and that was after it learned to talk with its own kind in speech.

The more I think about these strange little buggers, which ultimately is just the brain thinking about itself, the more I admire them—or maybe the more it admires itself.

Bedding

I used yellow sheets with the purple bedding for the first time. I was delighted with the result.