No Place Like Home

We fly a full-size flag atop a flagpole that Bill made, most days of the year. Four days before July 4th, Bill realized our flag had become raggedy and worn, and asked me to buy a replacement. I was in the bigger (but not big) town to the north, so I thought the odds would be better of finding one there.
Called Tractor Supply. Chris answered the phone and wanted to know how big, a reasonable question. "I dunno," I said. "Big." "How big?" Chris repeated with a trace of irritation. "Big enough to fly on a flagpole."
They only had flags that measured in inches.
Called Lowe's. I instructed the automated system to connect me to the operator. The operator never answered the phone.
Called Ace Hardware in Hollister. Friendly female connected me to Kathy, whose voice I recognized as the Kathy that used to work in our bookstore.
They had large flags in three sizes, and yes, they did have the kind with embroidered (instead of printed) stars.
Thank you Kathy. Thank you Ace. Three cheers for the red white and blue.

I'm back!

Since nobody has commented on previous posts, I feel safe in jumping back in with no explanation of my silence.

Right after my last post, last year, I lost my job. I did some fitful job search and got unemployment for awhile, but then decided to declare "retirement" and start drawing Social Security.

We spent several weeks in August in Illinois, where both Billy and I are from. I still have a crush on it, although when we moved away almost 50 years ago (I was a junior in high school) I couldn't wait to leave.

Now, maybe because I've lived in New York and Amsterdam, and seen much of the world, it seems appealing. Of course, even Champaign has more going on than Hollister, thanks to the U of I. But it's also lushly green, and warm, while this part of California is dusty and brown, and chilly.