because some things can't wait to be sent across the sea

Dear E. (Yes, you, E.)
O and I discussed a shout out via this little corner of blog land and it was deemed entirely appropriate, but I couldn't stop at "Hello." It seems all to short a shout. So I'm including a little Yale Daily Tribune, for your enjoyment/immediate information.

J&J Howell are moving. Continents. Which is all fine and well, but in the department of natural disasters, I'm not certain what we're going to do. I'm thinking The YTS will have to have Jim H. auditions, although it doesn't seem right without you here. In his absence, who is going to turn away all those faithful Yard Salers seeking a treasure trove of whatchamacallits? We're left with such a bundle of unanswered questions. You know the green house and the abundant harvest of Killer Zucchini? How will we ever ration that out in a circumstance of utter chaos? Should we put The Chard in charge of that? You know how he goes nuts for that green good stuff. And all the tools, who will run the Tool Rent-a-Center that is the J. H. Garage? Your dad might be a good candidate. What if a giant snow storm hits? D. McConkie is all over that snow blower, don't you think? We'll see how the auditions go. I'll keep you posted.

There are just some things that cannot wait for snail mail. And this is one. Signing off for now, hopeful we'll find a suitable 18 month replacement.

Miss you a million killer zucchinis.
Super Love,
M
p.s. Tomorrow I go for a back x-ray to see how much longer I get to be reptilian, either four more weeks or six. It's like Groundhog Day. For my back. I'm crossing my fingers for an early spring.

*They're going on a mission to Africa. Hip! Hip!