I was gonna write a little bit about the nine-hour meeting I attended today. Or the celtic music in the park that wife and I went to enjoy this evening.

Then the wife came down, a quarter before midnight. And announced "You have to call this man, before midnight."

I looked at the business card she was handing me.

From the Sheriff's Office.

Ooookay, I get calls from them fairly often.

"It's about the way your (notice how she said "your", not "our") red-headed son was driving.

Ohhh crap.

Call son into the office. Seems a deputy didn't like the way he peeled out of a truck stop parking lot. And has basically turned him over to our jurisdiction, provided I call the deputy to make sure we get the story staight.

And, as one would expect, I guess, youngest son kind of glossed over the details. He didn't just squeal rubber getting out of the parking lot.

He burst backwards out of his parking space, and pulled a movie stunt 180-spin in the lot, before zooming back out on the Interstate. Faster than the deputy could respond.

Hence the request for the city P.D. to shut him down when they re-entered town.

But no citation. Just a lecture, and a promise to have us informed in order to meet proper discipline. And the expectation that youngest son is now going to have to explain his driving behavior to the mother of his young female passenger.

Such fun.

As far as the meeting...

A debate on how developments will be handled brought this question:

"Why is a wind tower less intrusive than an oil well pump?"

And the immediate response?

"They don't stink."

And I happened to notice how meeting refreshments have changed. Used to be everyone would have a coffee cup or mug handy. Now, only a few are on coffee, and nearly a third of the folks in the room had water bottles at their seats. We're getting yuppee, even out here.

A memorable quote: "I don't like the list, anyway. This list sucks."

Thing is, it was her list.

Today was a day loaded with acronyms, which is expected with the federal government. One particular discussion was ended with the statement "Not if it's an OHV SRMA."

Frightening thing is, I understood exactly what they meant. I'm afraid it's infectious, and I may be hopelessly contaminated.

And learned a new one today. And they were serious.

An SST?

That's a Sweet Smelling Toilet.

Really.

Too tired to really describe this evening's "Music in the Park." Just a couple notes...

Guitar picker of the group (Glynfiddle) was from the same music college that Whinybutt used to attend. But he didn't know or remember any cello player from her state. Did know a student from our little town of <500, which is remarkable.

Good celtic trio, plenty of reels and jigs. And yeah, we bought their CD. One for each of us, autographed.

The gal with the sucky list was there, with her Corgi, so we gave him plenty of attention. (Corgis are essentially red heelers with short legs.) As well as a dirty border collie with the less than sober owner in a neck brace.

Threatened to rain several times, but never did. But clouds cooled the evning nicely.

Perhaps high point of the concert was the little red-haired girl, maybe two years old, who came forward and danced, as awkwardly as she was able, in front of the band. Trying to do Irish dance, with her lifts and kicks.

That, and the border collie charging across the lawn to greet the local singer who picked and sang during the band's intermission.