LXXXVI: The Case of the Ambulant Patients

You may remember some weeks back she bought thread. I didn't much care for the looks of it, or what it might portend. But as time went on and nothing more happened, I began to believe we might be spared . . .

Alas, no.

Because then she brought out these:

Needles. Of varying sizes, but all of them sharp. Oh yes.

I was excluded from the worst of it. Turned out my coat just needed a bit of mending. John, on the other hand, required help with his male pattern baldness. His hair, you will be glad to learn, is now securely fixed to his head.

And Jim . . . Well, his head had fallen off. I would have been fine with it remaining separated from his shoulders, but she opted to go through with the surgery. It was a success. Unfortunately.

Then, today, once she'd decided we were satisfactorily recuperated, we were dragged back to this place. Apparently she's determined (or the children are) to make it an annual visit.

We visited Robinson Crusoe's island

And the Crooked Man's house

And rode the Jolly Trolly

. . . with the girl

John discovered how quite contrary
Mistress Mary really can be

And I found Bluebell
(Yes, John, I know it's Peter Rabbit; I was . . . No, never mind,
it's not funny if I have to explain it.)

And afterward: A drink.

The outing counts as a success considering John's hair and Jim's head stayed on.

LXXXV: Escape Velocity & Gravity

I managed somehow to avoid being taken to the pumpkin patch this year. They did things like eat shaved ice, pan for gemstones, feed sheep, and of course pick pumpkins, and I remained blissfully home.

Just look at them. Getting dirty and having fun. It's terrible.

Of course this meant I could not escape whatever outing might come next. Which turned out to be the cinema.

I was sort of hoping whoever that is on the poster would eat her, but no such luck. Instead, ninety minutes of a space drama. But at least there was really good food after.

Proof I was there, and also that a flash
might've been handy.

No pictures of the food; it was gone too quickly. Place is called Lokanta, and is quite nice. If she goes again, I might consent to another excursion.

LXXXIV: Good-bye L.A.

It was not a complete loss of a trip. Though John and Jim remained at the hotel, she took me out for a night with friends.

Drinks at Mixology

And fondue at the Farmer's Market, and a stop at the bookstore, and dessert at Cheesecake Factory.

And a parting photo

But she brought home souvenirs from Monsieur Marcel as well:

The chocolate is "Marshmallow Swirl," which John says almost makes up for having been left at the hotel. (Almost.)

LXXXIII: City of Devils

She's brought us to Los Angeles. Not that we'll see much of it. No, we will instead languish in the hotel room while she attends her conference.

Oh, but first there was:

This dog's name was Biscuit. He kept trying to come over to us, but his owner wouldn't allow it. Probably just as well. (No, John, I was not terrified of the dog.) Biscuit finally gave up when the plane arrived. Evidently it was far more interesting than we were.

Now we are here:

Room 503

It's a small room, but it does have a balcony . . .

. . . With an exceptional view of the building across the way. She won't let us out there because she thinks we'll fall (or maybe jump).

For perspective:

King bed, though. Plenty of room for us all. Except she always steals the sheets.

LXXXII: Building Permit

The bridge is getting a bit more . . . Something . . . (Compare to the previous post.)

Did I do any of it? When she wasn't looking? Well, I have been a tad bored lately . . . Though we do have that trip to L.A. coming up. Should probably prepare myself for that . . .

LXXXI: An Utter Lack of Progress

When it comes to building, she is worse than any Public Works project. So far this is all she's managed of the Tower Bridge:

She says it's because she has so many other projects—writing projects, that is. She goes from one right into the next with hardly any . . .

What's that, John? Like me and my cases? Yes, but I don't have a Tower Bridge to construct. What? For Christmas?

. . . Well, yes, maybe I would like that.

LXXX: Sex & Candy (No, Not Really)

John and I are still awaiting . . . Well, I don't want to talk about it. Sufficient to say we were unable to go out. Which means, of course, Jim had free rein.

They went into Burlingame because The American has a taste for expensive undergarments.

John is extremely sorry to have missed this.

(I understand Jim's presence in the changing room startled one of the sales clerks. Though, honestly, Jim's presence anywhere startles, well, just about everyone.)

There was a bookstore visit, too, I'm told, but I have no evidence of such.

Then there was lunch:

And it appears Jim has started recruiting henchmen . . .

Utterly deranged . . .

He's cheap, I suppose, willing to work for the price of a sandwich. Or probably just some candy. We'll need to watch out for that one . . .