Push-button Day

Back in the day when the Kids' dad and I were dating, he traded in his well-worn Oldsmobile on a brand-new 1956 Plymouth hardtop with push-button drive (instead of a gear lever).  That took some getting used to, as I had learned to drive with "three on the tree."  When my daughter showed me her new car some time back, I saw that almost everything was operated with buttons.  What was old is new again.  Truck has an automatic shift, and that's about as newfangled as I want to get.

I am enamored, however, with the buttons on the TV remote control.  There was a time when I was remote challenged, probably because Steve never let it out of his hands.  Now I'm a real whiz with that dohickey, the mute and fast-forward buttons in particular, and pause coming in a close third.  They save me from watching or listening to the interminable and oh-so-irritating commercials.  They got a good workout yesterday as I cleared space on the recorded files.

While the day was certainly cooler, the A/C still felt good when Bessie and I went down to the feed store, and later to take the trash to the big road, our big outings for the day.

Somebody must have dropped the "go!" flag.  Not visible from the path, suddenly on my way down last evening a dark cloud of well over fifty vultures swirled up into the sky from behind the barn.  The cleanup committee had finally gone to work.