How is it that at 10:20 PM I am sitting here at the computer, all chores completed hours and hours ago, and all that is left is to peel hard boiled eggs?

Furthermore, how is it that I did all this, all this including washing the dog, cleaning the shower, changing the sheets and washing the litter boxes outside, among other things, but those I am the proudest of, on exactly 1 hour and 30 minutes sleep last night?

And, I visited my parents and Muffy AND supervised (meaning, I had one eye on it all day) the demolition of our now former gang plank walkway (YAY! for history), railroad ties (Roach Motels), wall surrounding ug-ee patio off the dining room (at front of the house, naturally) and inferior quality shrubs and decorative trees (eyesores one and all).

The day started like this. Got in bed around 4:30 AM, I'll tell you why in a minute because it is not my usual reason I go to bed when the rest of the eastern USA is fixing to get up. Stared at the same page of The Help for about a half hour. Gave up and tried to sleep, but stomach hurt.

Finally fell asleep at 7 AM. At 8:30 AM Mike comes rushing upstairs to announce the work crew is here and that I should get up and see to things. Now you have to understand, we weren't told exactly which day the work crew would show up.

So, trying to bury the fact that I just had 1.5 hours of sleep, I peek out the upstairs bathroom window and see trucks galore up and down the street and Hispanic men swarming the yard like flies on your picnic hamburger.

The next thing is, they are tearing up the yard. HARK! We can't swing doing this whole project in one fell swoop and have divided it into Part A and Part B. I'm here to tell you, we are starting with Part A, the hardscape, and the crew was delving into Part B, the landscape. Totally backwards and months out of synch.

Well, good, how great will this be, to have a dirt naked yard for the next 9 months?

So luckily, Mike comes back in and I order him back out there this instant and tell them to knock it off. Then I call Mr. Todd, Landscaper Extraordinaire, rated A+ by BBB, and say, Hello, your crew is tearing up our yard.

And that's how my day, on 1.5 hours sleep, started.

But I was not deterred. Sleep was impossible now, not only due to the noise factor but because I had to have that evil eye on. I've mentioned several times to various people wandering about, DO NOT CUT DOWN OUR CAMPHOR TREE (which only MAKES our house, it's front and center in the yard, huge and impressive and beautiful) AND DO NOT CUT DOWN OUR OAK TREES (lined up along the edge of yard and alley and simply essential to my well being).

So, I jumped into work and kept at it and here I am. I'm sure you're not believing this.

BUT, last night, see, Mike and I made a deal. I want a new kitten so Robby can have a playmate (since my initial idea for Jazzi and Robby to be pals hasn't materialized, really, in animal years, Jazzi could be a young grandmother to Robby).

So, guess what? Mike says, You can have a new kitten IF you clean and organize the whole house. That's right, the WHOLE house.

So (love that word), I stayed up all night and started organizing and cleaning the whole house, the first three hours of which involved sorting and reading ancient newspapers.

Mike thinks he's so clever, he knows I will never get a new kitten now.

But he'd better think again and think fast while he's at it. He'd better wipe that smirk off his face and reorganize his confidence, 'cause it's gone take a beating. That's all I got to say (reading too much of The Help, I'm gone start talking like them 1960's colored gals, it's very catching -- don't yell at me, that's what they call themselves in the book, it's how it was).

All right, I've left my eggs too long, they gone be tough to peel.

Hey, you oughta see Robby having his new harness fitted by me. It ain't working out none too good.

Tomorrow is another day, I take it.

Til then,
KEM

Today I'm pulling into the bank following a black car that looks vaguely familiar. A Solera, I've heard of those once upon a time. Even the license plate looks like I've see it somewhere before. It has a Florida Gator on it.

Aha! It is Mike's old car which DT-sD now drives. So she pulls off to the side of the drive to gather her wits and banking materials. I pull up right next to here, stop and roll down the window. HA! Nice little surprise! I suggest after her banking transaction she come to the house to pick up her mail, which includes this dirt cheap jewelry she orders online, to the tune of .25 cent earrings. How you make a living selling that is quite the mystery. Why don't they just pay us to relieve them of their earrings?

Her mail also includes a solicitation from Bob Jones University. They want money to transform the dining common. DT-sD wants to know why they didn't have such a modernized dining room and food when she was a 9th grade academy boarding student several years ago. Beats me why they didn't.

She wonders why I bother handing her a letter from BJU, it hits the trash faster than even the postcard reminder from her former dentist, my childhood friend. The postcards remind that DT-sD might want to consider coming in for a cleaning appointment since it's been 1 year, 2 years, 3 years, etc. since the last time she had her teeth cleaned. To no avail have I tried to tell the dentist's receptionist that DT-sT has moved on.

Then she has an invitation to rejoin her monthly hair care products club. And a something or ruther from the bank.

Also in her mail pile, for lack of a better place, a blue beads on elastic bracelet that was part of a bunch of blue beaded bracelets on elastic I gave her for a Christmas present. This stray one I discovered recently, this little set came from my gift box. DT-sD scorned these bracelets many moons ago. But this year after opening her Christmas presents she announced, What do you know, I like everything you gave me this year. She even liked one of the gift bags. She was as shocked as I was. Even though I love to spill beans, I refrained from telling her the beloved blue beads on elastic bracelets were her rejects from long ago. Now they are fashion recycles. He, he, he.

She has been having this sinus trouble for a month. Yet she worked the lunch shift at the restaurant. She said the tables look at her funny when she opens her mouth and sounds like Darth Vader. She has been spending the night with friends to avoid inhaling mold fumes in her sleep. Always sumpin', right?

Hey, guess what? I remembered the brand I wanted to tell you about the other day. I found a great new product. Bottled water. Bottled water you can actually OPEN the top without permanently gnarling your wrist in the process. I tell you what, I'd had it with some of these dopey bottles. One brand, to save money and the earth, no doubt, made their caps so small you could barely find the it much less get a grip and...hello...open it. These caps are clipped on so tightly it's beyond absurd. I'd have ten monkey fits three times a day, just opening my bottles of water. Seriously, life is too short for this kind of nonsense.

So, I saw a new brand of water at Sweetbay grocery store. Kelley Springs. Looked good to me, pure spring water from right here in Florida. But boy, when I got it home and gave the usual death grip to the lid, I was in for a MORE than pleasant surprise. This cap just spun off like a charm, so easily, in fact, I wondered if the seal had been broken. But all the bottles are like that. It's because they only have about three points (instead of the usual 20) where the plastic is attached, you know, the perforated little plastic nibs. BRILLIANT! Even my mother could open it, and that is the grand test of all. It's effortless, I'm telling you. It even feels good, try it.

I can tell you this much, Kelley Springs is the only brand I buy from now on. Period. And there is actually a swimming hole at the springs, too. (Probably not the point where they bottle the water). My mother was great to take us to visit the Florida springs when we were kids. Nothing like jumping in an ice cold natural pool of the purest clearest water. Somehow, though, we never got to this spring, and it's right near Apopka, I think, where we went to boarding school.

Of course I had to Google Kelley Springs, this is how I found out about the swimming. I was Googling because I wanted to THANK them for saving wrists and tempers everywhere. But I couldn't find the exact website...somehow. Now I shall have to telephone instead.

So, I am spreading the word. And just you watch, when I go to Sweetbay tomorrow, there will be no Kelley Springs bottled water and they will tell me they stopped carrying it, in my honor.

My house look so bad that I told Mike he could not bring his visiting boss over here or he might lose his job. Gads. I feel the mood descending to turn into a whirling dervish. But first, tomorrow is my friend's CAbi clothing party, which I wouldn't miss for anything. The refreshments and her house are too fab.

Then I have to pick up a painting I commissioned for Mike's boss. It's a picture of his product can. That's one thing I figured he might not have. Man, I hope he likes it. It's a thank you for the Germany trip he gave us. The artist, my friend, is hoping I like it, too. Jeepers, I hope I do like it. We went out to dinner and we got home there was a message that she wanted to drop it off at our house because she was eating dinner on our side of town. THANK THE LORD we were not home, NO ONE can see my house right now. Not even you.

Okay, run out and buy Kelley Springs water and save your wrists. PLUS, it tastes wonderful, better than any of the others. Robby and Jazzi love it. Robby has been a wild man lately, totally insane, the little sweetheart. He has learned to open the kitchen cupboard doors. Rats.

Good night, my blogging babies,
KEM

JEO says she has no use for restaurants that have their tables two inches apart.

I love someone who doesn't mince words.

Here is what DT-sD had to say when she calls tonight and sounds like she's dying. (Don't you just love when your kids call you late at night and sound like they were just shot or run over and with their last little lift of a finger are calling to gasp their farewell words?)

All raspy and breathless-like, with a lot of commotion in the background, she exhales, If you still claim to be my mother, why didn't you give me your curly hair instead of sinus trouble? (Remember, she insists she is adopted, but I have sad news for her, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.)

Well, that's what I thought she said, so I repeated it back to her and she agreed that that's what she had, indeed, said.

I suggested she move out of her moldy apartment, since she's had said sinus infection for a month. And she does live in a moldy apartment. She can have her old room back here at the house, as long as she doesn't paint it.

Then she wants to talk to Mike. And guess what? Remember that French restaurant I told you about and JEO referred to above? Where we ate for our anniversary 3 nights ago, 5 days after the fact?

Well. It was a cold night and as we left the restaurant, we saw all these people seated at tables outside. And it was chilly, I'm telling you. Now I know why they were eating out there, it was roomier.

But guess who two of those peeps were? DT-sD and her young man. But we didn't see DT-sT and her young man. We were too busy heading up the street to go visit DT-sT at the restaurant where she works. Three blocks in the cold later we are informed she is not working tonight.

So back we go, three blocks. We end up in the French Bakery next to the Cassis restaurant and buy a chocolate eclair because Mike needs change for the valet. Then we slip into our car with our little sacks of French morsels and off we go. TOTALLY unsuspecting.

But in actuality, DT-sD and young man have watched this whole scene unfold. Yes, they have observed our every step while we were in sight. We have never met young man, even though he's been around for 8 months, in and out. Thank the dear Lord my hair looked good that night (for me). It's very unnerving when someone meets you but you don't meet them, even when you find out about it 3 days later. I feel like I was a player in a movie or something. Pretty tricky of them, wasn't it? And now I've lost my big chance. I mean, not two days earlier I asked if we could meet him one of these centuries.

And if this isn't ridiculous enough, I texted DT-sD right when we got home. I said, We stopped by your restaurant to see you tonight. She replied immediately, I didn't work today. I said, We found that out. Then we chatted how she wants a big house and will never have one and I said, Who needs a big house anyway, and then she said, Me. Then I said, Well, be sure you can afford a maid then, and btw I'm reading The Help.

Now, you think about this for a second. She was probably sitting at the very same spot where we walked by not 17 minutes earlier. And I'll just bet you they were laughing all the way to the bank...or whatever.

Now young man is back up north. Can you even believe this? I hope I get invited to the wedding...when there is one...if there is one.

Speaking of The Help, the author is not afraid to have one of the main characters regularly taking the Lord's name in vain (I had to look up how to spell vain in Exodus 20 just now, remember way back when I blogged about the three spellings of vain, but I could only think of two and forgot there was a third spelling until my mother spelled vain for me and I was surprised to find it was spelled not my two ways, I really have a hang up with vane, vain, vein). Hey, maybe that character gets saved in the end.

Anyway, it is definitely not THE HELP who swear like that, they are church going women who have respect for God. Still, it really takes away from the book for me, TOTALLY UNNECESSARY to swear using Jesus and Christ like that. In fact, it curdles my blood. I hope Kathryn Stockett, who is otherwise a brilliant author, is reading this. There, my piece, peace, peas is spoken.

And with that, my friends, I am out of here. You know what? I had a day where I woke up feeling rested, even after small sleep. And not only that, I made chicken salad, felt good all day, my back didn't hurt and I got a lot done in general. I was calm and happy even though my mother got her cast soaking wet...again. And I picked out bricks for our new walkway we have to have installed before someone trips on uneven boards or rides a board to some region under the earth and we get sued. I picked these out with minimal fuss. Fuss, yes, but minimal. AND I feel totally confident about my decision. Will someone please tell me what on earth is going on? This person I just described is definitely not moi (I use moi because I never know if I should use me or I in these situations, so I play dumb). Thank you.

I suddenly have a sore throat. Please pray this is not a you-know-what. Oh dear, I was excessively grouchy yesterday and positively giddy today. This is not a good sign...at all.

KEM

Hi Strangers,

I think you could safely say I am a Blogging DUD right now.

But thank you Dr. Deb and BJH for your helpful comments. Dr. Deb wonders why I didn't heat up my baked beans. L-A-Z-Y, is why. Her family likes Bush's Baked Beans, but she personally doesn't "get" the combo of beans and sugar.

BJH had never heard of comparing baked beans to houses before. Hey, I wonder if that is an idea original to the Universe so far, baked beans and houses.

Mike and I celebrated our anniversary tonight at Cassis, a French Brassario, or whatever it is. I am far from sophisticated in foreign things. When BJH and I were looking at condos recently, we went in this one ultra mod townhouse stlye condo, in a high rise, too. The owner was there and it turns out he is none other than the owner of Cassis, too.

Now doesn't that just beat all, as Barney Fife would say? There are literally hundreds upon hundreds of condos along Beach Drive and we go in about six of them and Mr. Cassis is there. This is interesting to me because for Christmas my dear church friends gave us a gift card for Cassis. And we hadn't used it yet but were saving it up for our anniversary.

Mr. Cassis, does he really live there? By all practical appearances, No, he does not. Nor does his wife. The place was so spotless you could have taken a magnifying glass to the shower door and not found one speck of a dried mineral marring the sheen.

So the Realtor said, This place is so clean it doesn't look like you live here. Mr. Cassis says, in a thick French accent that allows me to completely lose the essence of what he's saying, You are either clean...or you are not. I know he said this because the Realtor translated later. So, I'm assuming they take showers.

I will not be inviting Mr. Cassis to my house anytime soon.

So, at the dinner tonight, where the tables are pretty much stacked on top of each other, which is the French way, I guess, well, when one table of four two inches away from our table got up to leave, I told Mike, QUICK!, say something romantic before the next people land. There was still the other couple on the other side of our table, two inches away, but we had already exchanged pleasantries because she had stolen my napkin before we arrived, which I didn't know yet, and I was looking all over for it. Then she 'fessed up. Was that as clear as French Onion Soup?

Okay, so Mike said, Thirteen years of wedded bliss I wouldn't trade for anything. I said, Even though I'm not the world's greatest housekeeper? And he said something like, Small taters. I wish I remember exactly what he said because it was very sweet and freeing (he may live to regret saying it), but by then the romance was over as we were surrounded again.

But the food is very good, and I'm pretty sure the kitchen is clean, rather than not clean. Mr. Cassis himself was running around enjoying himself, but I didn't say, Hey, remember me?

Today was fun. I went in Borders and all their calendars are $1.00. So what that the year is half gone, I helped myself to Mensa calendar, the kind you tear off a page every day. And each page has a puzzle. This ought to be good. And then I scooped up the tear-off-a page Joy of Cooking. I had that cookbook once upon a time, but it was too deep for me. Too bad I find out now that it is THE cookbook of and for all time.

But I succumbed to the JOY calendar because on the back of the box it showed a cast iron flat pancake griddle, the exact kind I bought at Crate and Barrel with my gift card, which I told you all about in the blog that disappeared. JOY says, How to make the perfect pancakes. So, I bought her calendar, too.

Then there were the little Moleskin date books, miniature ones, adorable. I bought two of those because, after all, they were originally $9.95 for $1.00. One is a monthly calendar, which I bought just for looks, and one is a page for every day where I plan to "journal" houses tasks I need to get to. Maybe if I write it in this sweet little moleskin booklet, I will actually do the jobs, so as not to let Mole down.

I really had something to say besides everything I just wrote. I thought of it while I was vacuuming. And it has to do with brands. Brands of what, Please, somebody tell me. It must be the French banana split freezing my brains. The waiter said he doesn't eat sweets. I always ask the waiter what to order, and he couldn't help me with dessert except to say root beer float. Heck, I can make that at home.

People who don't eat sweets are a breed outside my realm of comprehension, btw. He said he was born like that. Whatever.

One night I was driving around looking at houses in the dark. And I found the perfect bungalow on the perfect street and I was, once again, all moved in.

I drove by the next day, in the daylight of all things. The bungalow had gone from white to yellow in that short span. So I moved out.

Hope I remember what I was going to blog about by tomorrow.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY pretty soon.

Frenchy KEM

Some days a thought just strikes me and I want to start recording these. Wish I had all along, but some of them will come back to me, because they are very practical, like the one below:

Never again will I eat canned baked beans...especially cold ones.

I just won't do it. Why? Because I seriously don't like them and why should I self-torture? They are so BLAND and the texture is unappealing. They don't even taste good.

Now, doctored up baked beans, the kind my mother is famous for at all the neighborhood picnics and outings to the beach, the Better Homes and Gardens 1950's recipe, that is when I will eat canned baked beans, because they don't resemble the original, not even slightly. But plain beans out of the can, nope, nope, nope. Been there, done that, and never again.

I don't know about you, but I am desperately behind on all things pertaining to the house. So, I'm going to bed early in the hopes of getting up early and digging in.

Oh, but I went with BJH yesterday to look at houses. And the bungalow I had myself moved into, based on the darlingness of the exterior, HA! It was as disappointing as canned baked beans on the inside. MORE SO. It reminds me of a story my growing up friend Brooke used to tell me (she loved this story). Her grandfather was once driving along and spotted a girl walking down the road. He could just see the back of her and she had the most gorgeous flowing red hair in the world. But when he got to where he could view her face, it was badly disfigured and he about drove off the road, it was such a shock. He expected breath-taking beautiful to go with the hair. Yeah, that's what I expected of this bungalow.

Well, good to see it and knock it out of my system. The house had waves and dips, cottage cheese ceilings and a super quirky unworkable kitchen which, BJH wisely pointed out, you could see the whole side of the fridge from the front door, through the living room and dining room, no less. Now, isn't that totally super groovy and charming to boot?

AND, all the wood floors were in an abused state. AND, there was some weird tiny half bath added onto the back of the house, off the master bedroom. It didn't work AT ALL. Nice try, folks! (Not to be mean or anything.) We figured out a bachelor lived there. Looking at houses is way too much fun, and I mean that, even though my dream house turned out to be canned beans.

Nothing like moving out of your dream house before you even move in. Moving on to the next fantasy (hear Mike groan).

We have a new member in the family. My parents got a new little Maltese named Muffy. It should be named Precious, 'cause that's what it is.

Have a SUPER weekend, my friends.

KEM

My friend, Dr. Deb, read about my last blog and how I lost it, remember?, Googling Chef Tell to see how many "L's" in Tell? She said she loved that I did my research (my sweet friends always try to look on the bright side of blogging blunders) because that is what makes us interesting, that we look up and read (and hopefully remember) fun little facts. It spices up conversation. Well, thank you, Deb, I would have to agree with you. She is one of the most fun people there is, period.

BJH informed today that the lady yesterday who had the perfect house and is moving to Topeka? Well, she also has perfect penmanship because she wrote down something for BJH. I told BJH I'd heard enough and we can't talk about this perfect lady anymore. It's thoroughly demoralizing. JK...kind of.

Mike comes in after a rehearsal tonight. He asks, Could you please heat up some of that turkey pot stuff (which my dad had made and I went over to collect some of it today...funniest thing ever...what happened)?

Anyway, so I heated it up.

Then I ask, Do you want some cake?

He sure does. So, I give it to him.

I wrap up what's left of the cake.

Then, Can I have some more cake?

Sure you can, but you should have asked me sooner, I just wrapped it all up in plastic.

So, he gets his second helping of cake. Meanwhile, I'm making blueberry pancakes (wanted to use up the sour cream). I'm trying the cast iron griddle again. This time they didn't stick so much, but they didn't cook through, either. Don't you think raw-ish pancakes are one of the bigger culinary disappointments?

But I sit down and eat a plate of four medium pancakes. Yum, raw notwithstanding. There are four more medium pancakes cooling on a plate, except they are covered by the last pancake, which is gigantical, as my friend likes to say. My last pancake of the bunch can be any size whatsoever. It merely depends upon how much batter is left in the bowl. This time it was enough to make two medium pancakes, but you don't know that until you start pouring the batter in the middle of the griddle, and then it's too late and that is how you wind up with gigantical.

Honestly, I can never judge amounts. Like when you have leftovers and you pick a bowl or dish to store them? Well, I have a set of graduated mixing bowls, 9 of them. I am always so far off in the size I choose it's like a comedy routine. Each time I'm thoroughly amazed that I could put a tablespoon of mashed potatoes in the biggest bowl. Or, far worse, you pour soup into a bowl, right up to the rim, with some to spare. How is that going to manage itself in the fridge, besides sloshing itself here, there and everywhere? I just can't stand to dirty a bowl for nothing, so rather than pour the soup into an appropriately sized bowl, I will gingerly slide the overflowing bowl into the fridge. I know, it makes no sense whatsoever. Is anyone as weird as I am?

I decide to eat that gigantical pancake because...why not? Then there are still four mediums left for tomorrow. I also poured all the rest of the syrup I'd heated on that baby. Because...why not, I really don't like to pour leftovers back in the bottle, do you?

Then Mike chimes in, I might just have to have a blueberry pancake.

I said, WHAT?, you just had two pieces of chocolate cake. He said, I didn't eat much today.

So he goes and grabs one of the four with his fingers and carries it over to the table. I said, Now I don't have any syrup left, you should have spoken up sooner, and not only that, I wouldn't have eaten the gigantical pancake, you could have had it, because I just ate it for kicks.

He said about the syrup, That's okay, I'll just use your plate because the syrup left on your plate is enough. Unless you licked the plate. Did you lick the plate?

Since I'm grouchy today, I squawked, WHO KNOWS??

Mike hollers, YOU DID LICK THE PLATE!, "WHO KNOWS?" means you did!

Me...Silence.

Mike totally busted up and used my plate. And that's all I'm saying.

Besides I only have three pancakes for tomorrow. Hmm, my fingers just slipped and punched some keys and now we are italics. I haven't used italics in ages, this is fun.

What is not fun, what is a tragedy, is what happened in St. Petersburg today, which everyone knows about because it is all over the news. God bless those police officers who gave their lives today that we may lay our heads down at night in peace. And, dear Lord, please comfort and care for their families.

So, so sad. I can't stand it. I hope the third shot officer will be all right.

Isn't each day a gift, pure and simple?

Love you all,
KEM

Let me just say that it's a good thing the Steelers won tonight. Or I would be living with one VERY GROUCHY husband. He has his terrible towels waving and his Steeler tie draped over the TV and he's wearing his Steelers sweatshirt and he draped another Steelers sweatshirt on the back of a chair for Robby to cuddle up in with additional sweatshirts gracing the sofa. There are Steeler hats and mugs and blankets. There is even a peel off Steeler sticker on the bathroom mirror. It's been there since the last time the Steelers won the Super Bowl. We have a picture on the wall with a little boy kneeling at his bed. He prays, And please God, let them win this one. It really is a cute poster.

I gave Mike the Steelers tie when we were dating and he doesn't remember that. No Brownie points there, let me tell you.

Today was simply marvelous, glorious. A beautiful nippy winter Florida day with clear blue skies. GAD treated BJH and me to brunch at the club, where I could have eaten at least 7 Belgium waffles, one made-to-order after the next, but that might have attracted too much attention. I didn't want to embarrass GAD and BJH by being booted from the club.

Then we took the afternoon and toured the Old Northeast neighborhood, my favorite, my old growing up stomping grounds. I found the house I want, in the process. Not that we're moving or anything. Not yet anyway.

The funniest thing was when BJH commented that the club didn't have their fancy logo finger tip napkin/towels/things in the bathroom anymore. Just plain old paper towels. BJH said maybe the club was reducing expenses. And clever GAD said, Maybe I'll reduce my dues then. He, he, he. I think if the club is smart they should stash a private stack of elegant towels just for BJH and GAD.

We went in one house that was so minimalistic, neat...spotless, actually. So perfect we thought no one was living there and the house was staged to sell. No junk, just the necessities. The lady said she doesn't like to clean and the solution for that is not to have much to clean. Ain't that the truth, pure and simple. That lady has the courage of her convictions, which is more than KEM can boast. She, not KEM, is moving to Topeka, KS, where I'm sure good old-fashioned common sense is the order of the day. My CDW is from KS, and if she is a sample of KS folk, then KS rules!

BUT, there is something to be said for the lived-in look. That look, I have mastered.

I socialized myself silly this week, loving every second of it. Now it is time to prepare for the second day of the week. I always forget that Sunday is the first day of the week. What an odd thing. Guess I want to chunk the whole weekend into the same week.

Maybe tomorrow I can reconstruct the blog I wrote and lost a few days ago. That will use up some brain cells, which I haven't done lately. Besides trying to take a sample Mensa test, ha!

Cheeri-O!
KEM