Summertime? Oh, It's Here.

So here we were a few weeks ago:

Okay, so maybe it was just, like, last weekend.

But it felt like ages ago, because it was before Memorial Day.

If I were Mistah Schleckah I'd call this: 
My Tootsie-Toes, My Pint Glass, and Thee.

When Memorial Day weekend arrived we embraced it with open arms, and open brallys.

We were sitting on our deck in the brilliant sunshine one morning during the holiday weekend, and we could hear Ledgie, contradictingly singing her mournful song of foggy woe, and we biked right down the hill to investigate.

Sure enough, the fog was thick as pea soup down there.

Ledgie was socked right in.

So were the ferries . . .

. . . until they blew right out of that fog, and to ferry landings near City Pier in New London, right where they belong.

Meanwhile, back at the, well, it's not a ranch, but, well, shoot, the Appraisal Vision Assessor's Database calls it "Conventional". Please. We are anything but conventional around here. Just wait until I show you the Home Improvement progress we've made . . .

. . . but that's for another day.

For this day, for Memorial Day, it was all about London Broil, and my own Mistah Schleckah's cooking thereof.

Steak was my Dad's job. And Mark Dowd's. And Mr. Can-O-Beans. We're more chicken grillers around here.

But may I tell you this?

Mistah nailed it.

Oh how I love this time of year.

Happy Summer, peeps.