A puzzling milestone

This morning, I finished the 75th and final puzzle in a book of NY Times Sunday crossword puzzles, which accompanied me on many travels during this most unusual year. Our niece and her husband sent the book to us in Loma Linda after our son was seriously injured last March.

The crossword book, along with five thoughtfully presharpened pencils, was included in a "care package" of books, activities and snacks to help us fill the time at our son's bedside. It also became an occasional notebook, when a doctor, nurse or visitor arrived. On the page for Puzzle 29, my wife jotted a number of questions for us to ask about Will's impending transfer to a rehab center. Inside the back cover, I jotted the cell phone number of his company commander, who had come to visit, and a few notes about Will's progress.

As it turned out, the first 43 of the 75 puzzles were completed in Loma Linda. Eventually, the five pencils lost their points, so I bought a small and surprisingly effective pencil sharpener at the Loma Linda University student store. The 44th puzzle was the transition one, completed in part as Leslie drove the two of us along Interstate 15 from San Diego back to Loma Linda, after we delivered Will to the naval hospital in SD. That puzzle was ultimately completed after we returned to Sacramento.

That's where I finished most of the rest. But Puzzle 48 was completed in SD in June, during a visit to Will. Four or five were finished during summertime trips to the cabin in Strawberry. I finished one and started another during our Thanksgiving weekend trip to my sister's house in Santa Rosa. By the time we went to visit Will in Twentynine Palms before New Year's, I was on Puzzles 71 and 72.

Now it's time to start on a new book of crosswords, thoughtfully provided by the daughter at Christmas. But I think I'll hold onto this completed book for a while longer.

The Editor at Work

This sketch of my father was made sometime in the early 1960s, I believe, as he worked at the newspaper. I don't know the artist, though I think it would have been done by the editorial cartoonist at the Stockton Record who, at the time, would have been a fellow named Bert Whitman.

The sketch had been tucked away in a filing cabinet among the many football programs, baseball scorebooks and other papers that my dad left behind. Now, it's been matted and framed and it hangs on the wall in my office.

Fenced in

Our back fence had been in horrible shape for several years. During that time, we had tried to contact our neighbor several times to see about replacing it. No response. But then we learned, through a mutual neighbor, that he had decided to redo his backyard, deck and fence.

The new fence was completed this week, and oh, what a fence it is.

I promised to post a photo, so here we go.

A timely Halloween decoration

In October, it's become common to see front lawns with fake tombstones. But someone in our neighborhood took this Halloween tradition and gave it a timely twist.

In their front yard, one tombstone reads, "RIP Savings."

Another, simply: "401K"

Nice hat

This is a wonderful photo. It's both strikingly lovely and strikingly silly.

The story in the New York Times says the photographer, Hendrik Kerstens, staged the photos to be similar to paintings by 17th century Dutch masters.

In this one, his daughter strikes the classical pose ... but of course it's a plastic trash bag she's wearing on her head, shaped like a lace hood. There's another one where she assumes a similar pose but wears a napkin on her head.

What a good sport and what a fun idea.

California Sto

People in other states refer to a driving technique called a "California stop," in which a driver rolls through a stop sign.

Here is evidence that we in California aren't even patient enough to paint the whole word on the pavement.

Anachronism Day

We thought today was Bastille Day, but it turned out to be Anachronism Day.

The radio broadcaster at the baseball All-Star Game, noting that many people had decided to take photographs of a hometown batter coming to the plate, remarked about the "thousands of flashbulbs going off."

I bet zero flashbulbs went off, but the broadcaster demonstrated himself to be of a certain age.

Later I learned that my wife, when driving home, had seen a young man crossing the street and holding a boombox to his ear. That seemed like a throwback, too.

I would type more, but I have to go repair my buggy whip.