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It was certainly good to hear that Dave Pascale got engaged.
He couldn't miss me too much. I knew the girl vaguely at one
time, and she's A-1, also much better suited of him than I ever
would have been. He certainly needed someone to inspire him to
exploit his capabilities, but I wasn't the one, since those things
have to work both ways. I hope that they will be as happy,
contented and generally satisfied as we are.

Thurs.
The week has reached i ts turning point and is drawing to a
close. We live for the weekends, when we can fuss with our
projects, and turn the pile of parts in the garage into things that
really work. Last Sun., Jim mixed a Porsche that the Porsche people
had all but given up on. Right now, we're spending way too much
time fighting a battle with rusty chrome. We have somany bikes
standing out around here, that every time it rains, we have to
polish all the chrome, and then it rains again. My little jewel
the Zundapp, is the only one that will fit in the garage, and
it's the shiniest mudder on the peninsula. It won't be next
season. We're currently reading electronics data to learn to
assemble our hi-fi components. We'll have time as soon as track
season starts. Little No-Name will do his teething on a screwdriver
and a pair of pliers. It's okay if he wants to be an
anthropology professor, though.

Jim's mother had her card club last night, and there are
bowls of candy all over the house for Jeff and I to demolish.
The next time I see the ladies I am going to give them a stern
lecture on eating all the malted milk balls. Jeff likes peanuts
so he is indifferent to my complaints, but I certainly was
handed a letdown when I made my inspection this morning.

Must sign off now as Jeff is begging to be de-flead. In
his independent efforts to exterminate them, he chews more holes
in his hide than the fleas do. I made the mistake of dousing
his bed with flea-powder, and there apperas to have been a mass
migration from bed to dog, so I must rescue him before they
carry him out the back door.

Love,
Marcia

It was certainly good to hear that Dave Pascale got engaged.
He couldn't miss me too much. I knew the girl vaguely at one
time, and she's A-1, also much better suited of him than I ever
would have been. He certainly needed someone to inspire him to
exploit his capabilities, but I wasn't the one, since those things
have to work both ways. I hope that they will be as happy,
contented and generally satisfied as we are.

Thurs.
The week has reached i ts turning point and is drawing to a
close. We live for the weekends, when we can fuss with out
projects, and turn the pile of parts in the garage into things that
really work. Last Sun., Jim mixed a Porsche that the Porsche people
had all but given up on. Right now, we're spending way too much
time fighting a battle with rusty chrome. We have somany bikes
standing out around here, that every time it rains, we have to
polish all the chrome, and then it rains again. My little jewel
the Zundapp, is the only one that will fit in the garage, and
it's the shiniest mudder on the peninsula. It won't be next
season. We're currently reading electronics data to learn to
assemble our hi-fi components. We'll have time as soon as track
season starts. Little No-Name will do his teething on a screwdriver
and a pair of pliers. It's okay is he wants to be an
anthropology professor, though.

Jim's mother had her card club last night, and there are
bowls of candy all over the house for Jeff and I to demolish.
The next time I see the ladies I am going to give them a stern
lecture on eating all the malted milk balls. Jeff likes peanuts
so he is indifferent to my complaints, but I certainly was
handed a letdown when I made my inspection this morning.

Must sign off now as Jeff is begging to be de-flead. In
his independent efforts to exterminate them, he chews more holes
in his hide than the fleas do. I made the mistake of dousing
his bed with flea-powder, and there apperas to have been a mass
migration from bed to do, so I must rescue him before they
carry him out the back door.

Love,
Marcia