December 10, 1992
Dear Everyone:
Another year, another “military
action”, this time in
Somalia, a country best known, up until now, for being next door to
Ethiopia.
This time, however, things are a little different.
The soldiers are there to try to
prevent bloodshed and death.
And while the opposition does have more fire power than the
Ethiopians who went up against Mussolini’s tanks with spears, this time
the soldiers seem to have less to fear from enemy guns than from the
distinct possibility of tripping over eager journalists.
Still, it’s for a good cause, all those jeeps, tanks and armored
personnel carriers coming in to feed starving people, affording a whole
new meaning to the phrase “meals on wheels”.
In other news…
It’s official. The
California Contingent (“Marshall”, “Jeannie” and I) will be winging its
way northward to spend Christmas at the family estate in exotic,
exciting Canby,
arriving on the 22nd.
While in Oregon, we hope to get into Portland to see
The Ladies of the Camellias
again.
Rain. Precipitation.
Water falling out of the sky.
It’s been getting wet around here.
Makes a bit of a mess on the roads, of course, but everyone’s too
pleased to dare complain about it.
The building next door has placed “Caution!
Wet Floor” signs on the sidewalk outside, afraid that some
unclear-on-the-concept will slip and try to sue the building for the
rain. Of course, the wind
promptly blew the signs over.
We need lots of rain,
preferably directly over the reservoirs, and
lots and LOTS of snow in
the mountains. So what if we
lose a few skiers?
“Jeannie” and I are going through the usual pre-Christmas scramble to
get all the shopping and mailing done in time.
I discovered a long time ago that the best time to shop,
particularly at the mall, is at the dinner hour.
That’s because the Stroller-People have to take all the rug-rats
home and feed them. (Have
you ever noticed that they always go for your ankles?)
We did take time out, of course, to watch a movie,
The Bodyguard.
It’s not much of a thriller; if I can figure out who the
mysterious killer is less than halfway through the film, anybody can.
But it does quite well as a charming little love story about two
people who have absolutely nothing in common with each other, except
chemistry.
They are complete opposites, but the fact that one of them is black and
the other white (and I’m not saying which is which) is entirely ignored
throughout the film. I like
that.
Love, as always,
Pete
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