I don’t usually recognize these things.

Actually, that’s not true. Usually I notice them, and then forget to mention them when I’m writing the blog, and remember afterward that I was going to say something about it. Dates, events, anniversaries, all of that stuff slips by unmentioned because I don’t keep them in my head long enough to put them on the screen. However, I’ve seen this one coming, and I noticed it as I was getting ready to type, so this time it gets mentioned.

This is the six hundred sixty-sixth Blogless Lepolt post. The first five hundred eleven are now on the archived site, and we have been on this new location since Blogless Lepolt Continues, Entry five hundred twelve, on August nineteenth of last year.

So for those for whom the number six six six has significance, this is that entry. For those for whom it remains just another number, well, it’s interesting nonetheless.

Collision did rehearse last night, sans Baxter. Brittany said she saw him, and he was getting glasses and did not know how long that was going to take. I think there’s something wrong with his cell phone, unless he’s just been too tired to awaken when it rings lately. Anyway, I’m going to try to get hold of him before the next rehearsal, to make sure there’s no other problem. It was an encouraging rehearsal, although we still have a long way to go. My wife heard her son playing bass, and was so impressed she came out and, perhaps, gawked at him for a few minutes. He did very well. We are not quite ready to add the drums, and because of previously mentioned problems with Brittany’s mother are anticipating some setbacks, but hopefully we’ll be good by April.

I’ve been tapped for another pick-up. The girl who returned home on Monday wishes to return here tonight for another weekend visit. Building ties with a future daughter-in-law is important, so I’ll be headed that direction. Her beau now drives, but not so long nor so confidently that he would undertake a journey of this distance alone, so we’ll share the wheel. Also, this week he will wait until I have returned from church, so at least I won’t miss that.

It appears, finally, that I am not, at least yet, sick. My druidic ancestors would of course knock on wood for that, but the table here has been dead and dried long enough that even if there were a tree spirit to appease, it would be a pretty angry spirit. I’m hoping that I’ve managed to miss it this time around. Besides, despite the amount of time the diseased persons spent abed, it did not seem to me that they were getting anything like rest.

–M. J. Young