Does She Still Need Me? Will She Still Feed Me?

One of the questions in Sir Paul's ditty isn't a question for me, though: if I'm out 'til quarter to three, I'm certain that whether or not the door is locked will be way, way down on my list of concerns.

I'm sixty-freaking-four years old today. How did that happen?

Predictable YouTube drop-in:

A Post for St. Patrick's Day

Q: What's Irish and gets jumped over by reckless teenagers?

A: Paddy O'Furniture

These photos were taken by my Dad, Lynn Harrington, in the summer of 1962, when I turned 15. The little Gunnison pre-fab house was the box I grew up in, but, to me then, it was a mansion. In the upper-left of the second photo is what I'm sure was Chenango County's finest treehouse at the time.

I'd have a hard time jumping over a thumb drive now.

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