I'd been invited to have dinner with my old buddy Mark Taylor, who was stopping over for a day or so with his dad to visit cousins here in Minnesota, and it so happens that the cousins live just a few miles down the road in Mendota Heights. It's a nice place, although I was assured that the map had it wrong - the lake next to the house is Augusta, not Lemay. Dinner was good, the conversation with Mark was better, and we hung out until about 1030 after which I headed home. His cousins are interesting people, mostly involved with the family business of concrete pumping, which has done right well by them. Mark's father is looking well for his age (I estimate he's in his 70s) and apparently has learned his lesson about not climbing trees while encumbered with a chainsaw. They're on their way to an Alaskan cruise by way of Fairbanks and Skagway, which should show them plenty of Alaska at its best. Unfortunately, Mark's mother wasn't with them; she had suffered a transient ischemic attack and was unable to travel, though okay to be on her own.
I'm taking the afternoon off to supervise the maids cleaning the old apartment, and the Taylors will be heading off to the airport for their 5 o'clock flight. Good people, avid fans of the boxer dogs, and a big part of the reason I miss being back home in the Washington area.
Tonight's plans include buying new sneakers that actually fit, emptying out Scott's van, and an early bedtime, unless offered the opportunity to kill things with HALO.