Ninety Nine !

Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall

   Ninety Nine Bottles of Beer

   If One of those bottles should happen to fall

   ...it won't be Rosie!

You can say "Mummy P. is doing great, for ninety-nine," or you can mean it. The Great Plotnik means it. She's got plenty of ailments, but they're annoyances that she can live with. If she hadn't been so DAMNED stubborn and refused the hearing aid, she'd be right in the middle of everyone's conversations just like she used to be.

OK, she forgets, she repeats herself, she asks you the same question several times in a row, and she doesn't remember your answer. But sit her down in front of a plate of food and look out. "Now, Dear, just give me a little bit. Not that much..." she SAYS. She MEANS: "If I were you, Dear, I wouldn't leave your finger anywhere near my fork."

Brother Shmeckl and Sister Little Bear opened up their home as always for the family, though this year we kept it to just immediates. Too many people and M.P. (and also her son Plotnik) tend to glaze over and check out. It was just right. Plot and Duck picked up one of those dark chocolate cakes from Destination Bakery on the way to the airport and she blew out all the candles before anyone could take a picture.

Bailey, the Devil Dog, was moderately well-behaved, but both of Plotnik's nephews have psychological conditions. Nephew Dominant Force is in the third stage of Cowboy-Corrosive Brain Failure (which means he'll even watch exhibition games) and Nephew Nefnik, who brought his dog Dakota to the party, may have contacted Southern Shmalifornia Dog Doofus Disease. It was not previously known to be transferable through generations.

It was wonderful to see Cousin Carver Two looking and sounding like her old self again. For once, Plot and Duck got to spend a little time with Sis Judy. Jude, if you're reading this, please send the photo of the three kids.

So. It's a good time to be alive, fellow Plotnikkies. Heredity, or blind luck, whichever it is, Plotnik will take it. Yes, it's true that yesterday's drive from Orange County back to Mummy P.'s house, mired in burning and stinking traffic and also having to get off the freeway twice in East L.A. to find some place where Mummy P. could, well, P, was exhausting.

But she hung in there, and we hung in there, and everybody is still hanging in there. And then there are those Plotzers.

So this is the Sermon for the Day: The longer you hang in there, the more chance there is that something good might happen. Pweeeeeg!