This is an update on the nasty post below about my uncle. Actually it's a short treatise on the Mysteries of Queen Brighid the Bright.
After finishing the post, I went downstairs (stone cold sober) to do more housework. Then I decided to call my mother-in-law, who just had knee surgery two weeks ago.
Except the number I called (stone cold sober) was the family farm in the mountains.
And my cousin picked up.
I was so confused hearing a male voice that I hung up. Then I realized what I'd done.
I still called my mother-in-law, but she didn't answer. So I called the family farm again. Cousin picked up again. I asked about his dad. He said, "Wanna talk to him?" I said yeah, and in an instant Foggy was on the line.
We had a nice chat, as always dominated by him, but he's okay and in no mortal peril. I may go to see him this summer and time my visit conveniently for "drum and splash" at Four Quarters Farm.
That way, when he starts ranting on the wonders of Rush Limbaugh, I can seek out my own people, skinny-dip a little, and commune with the Goddess Who Does Not Permit Hard Feelings.
THE MERLIN OF BERKELEY SPRINGS