Good Morning Gentle Readers,
Hey, it's Friday the 13th and my father was born on this day just scant months before the champagne bubble of the 1920's burst on Black Tuesday.
Many people assume that the depression arrived the next morning, but really, the bad times sort of staggered into town before settling in for good about 1933.
That's us in 1952 and Dad's 1951 Nash Statesman.
It was a pretty nice neighborhood in those days, not far from where Wyatt Earp's family once called home. These days , most of the neighborhood has been razed and you'd probably want to steer clear after dark.
Speaking of black cats, this is Kramer walking the deck railing 30 feet above some of the big rocks from which Casa de las Rocas Grandes takes its name.
Dad's exciting news today was that a 175 year old oak tree came down in four pieces recently. It narrowly missed driving him into the ground like a tent stake, smashed his woodshed flat, hit the house, the car, and the garage, generally making quite a mess.