Can you figure it out?  (Alright, I know Jane knows, for it was she who pointed it out, so others know too, but perhaps some don't.)

Once you know what it is it's a good bit more decipherable.

Wait for it.....

It spells out "Google" in laser-light, in honor of today being the anniversary of the first laser (or so Google says, anyway).  This is their banner for today.

Did y'all hear about the guy on a Southwest Airlines flight from Austin to Dallas?  His father was in critical condition with a heart ailment - poor man! - and his son flew up to Dallas to be with him.

Reasonable. 

What wasn't reasonable was that, in violation of the law, he apparently kept his cell phone turned on during the flight so he could receive updates as to his parent's condition, and having gotten a text message about it, called the hospital from the airplane.  Despite repeated requests (demands, surely?) from the flight attendants to turn it OFF already, he belligerently refused.

The police were waiting for him when the plane landed.  Must have delayed his arrival at the hospital, don't you suppose?

The man who used his cell phone during one of the doomed 9-11 flights, learning what was happening, sending messages to his wife, and praying with whoever it was he was talking to prior to setting forth to crash the plane into a field instead of a building, is one thing.  Using one's cell phone for personal, individual business is something else again.

What slays me is how his "spokesman" insists upon framing the situation as the man receiving a call he felt he had to take.

Pardonnez-moi, the point is that the man oughtn't to have been able to receive calls - or text messages - at all.  The rule is that cell phones be o-f-f, not on but ignored.  Off. 

Safety considerations aside, I for one have zip interest in cell phone calls being permitted during flight.  Goodness knows it's bad enough to be forced to listen to loud, often inane, one-sided conversations in the doctor's waiting room, in the aisles at the grocery store, and darn near everywhere else....can you imagine being stuck for hours - and in close quarters! - listening to such drivel? 

The ghastly earthquake that struck China today was centered 50-odd miles away from Chengdu, a city of 10 million.  

That's roughly the size of New York City or Moscow or Tokyo, for crying out loud!  There's a city the size of Moscow of which I knew nothing?  How is that possible? 

Being unaware of a city the size of Fort Worth is one thing.  I hardly expect to be familiar with all the 500K-700K population-size cities in the world, as there are quite a few of 'em.

But I had thought any city of 10 million is large enough that it'd have come to my attention at some point. 

[nervously]  How many more megacities do you suppose have flown under the radar like that?   

It's been a lovely day, filled with church; Mother's Day remembrances from young'uns (three different Nintendo DS games...hooray!...from Kirstin, Jonathan, and Dmitry, a digital photo frame from Jessica, flowers from Dan and Joe, and phone calls from Alex (last night, from the Blue Ridge, which is Somewhere At Sea) and Charles); and a delightful barbecue supper at Elaine's house in the early evening. 

After the party Brianna - whom I'd picked up so she could attend, as Jessica had to work today, wouldn't you know it? - came back to our house for a little bit, and Dmitry kindly took her and Max on a walk;  look who was holding Max's leash!

The neighbor in the house behind us, seen in the background, has a poodle named Pebbles, and he - the neighbor - as a rule tends to dislike other dogs, and especially big dogs, but he lavishes praise on Max, declaring him to be "the sweetest dog", who is "good friends with Pebbles."  High praise, indeed!  Max behaved himself nicely with Brianna, not pulling her over or anything of the sort.

We score points for that around here.  Not pulling people over is a good thing.

Oh, I forgot to say that when we arrived home, we found a piece of feline performance art in the living room:

Yes, Boots the Artiste has been at it again.  It's been awhile since she's made a design, and it's nice to see her possibly getting her groove back. 

Hope everyone else had as nice a Mother's Day as had I!

This morning I tapped lightly on Dmitry and Joe's door to wake Dmitry up for church (we've a party @ 5 p.m., but the boys can go to the service that starts then), and was taken aback to realize the large hairy critter in Dmitry's bed was Max, while Dmitry was conked out on the futon, along with Joe. 

The dog has the bed to himself, and the boys shared a futon.  

Yesterday afternoon I baked cupcakes, and as the boys were heading out the back door to take the dog for a walk, I handed them each a cupcake as they passed.  Suddenly Max reared up over the side of the counter, eager grin on his face, obviously expecting to be given a cupcake, too. 

You had to have been there, I guess, but it was really very funny....his timing was perfect, and his air of expectation so intense, we all burst out laughing.  Well, except Max, who was pushed back down, cupcakeless.  How the deuce does a dog that size manage to give Bambi eyes? 

Today Dmitry's Texas Birth Certificate arrived.  

It doesn't look just the same as one for someone born here, as it gives Cheboksary as his place of birth (which isn't accurate, but is what is on his after-the-adoption Russian b/c; he was actually born in Alatyr), but there Don and I are as his parents, by golly.

So he needn't weird everyone out by producing a Russian birth certificate with English translation whenever he needs a birth certificate.  And if he loses it, he can march down to the bureau of vital statistics like everyone else, fill out a form, hand over a check, and get another copy.

That's IT.  There's literally not another thing to be done as regards his adoption.  It's finished. 

Four and a half years later.  Just call me Speedy. 

I can't say as how Abyssinian Sand Terriers come to mind.

Or Affenpinschers.

Alopekis?

Appenzeller Sennenhunde?

Catahoula Leopard dog?

Fila Brasileiro?

Groenendael?

Hovawart?

Lagotto Romagnolo?

Here's one I like:  the Mudi.  ("Get that Mudi dog out of my kitchen!")

I'd think the pet insurance website at which I found these was making 'em up, but can't think why they would, so they must be on the level.  Do you suppose anyone actually owns any of them, though? 

Have no idea what a Xoloitzcuintli looks like, but I want one.  

Last month it was the freon having leaked out due to holes in pipes, plus some gizmo not working properly.  This time the whole condenser's down.  It tries to start, according to Don, but can't quite catch. 

Naturally tonight we have Carolyn over and by the time I noticed how warm it was getting, I'd already got going on the dinner:  fried chicken strips, mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, and fruit salad.  Apart from the fruit salad, not a warm-kitchen-friendly meal to fix.  

Last week I had been up in Keller babysitting Bryson while Kirstin was at work. It came time to return him to her office so off we set, with him grousing and grumbling that he didn't want to go to her office, he wanted to stay home (he'd been watching a video, you see).  Somehow his grumblings morphed into a jeremiad against tomatoes, and how he doesn't like them, for they "spin around."

"Bryson, tomatoes are vegetables...well, technically they're fruit...but whatever they are, they don't spin around.  That's silly" I absently responded, keeping a sharp eye out for cars entering from an adjoining street.

"Yes, they do.  Tomatoes spin around!" he insisted.  "My daddy told me!"

And we were off.  Back and forth we argued, him stubbornly claiming that tomatoes....especially bad tomatoes....spin around, with me just as stubbornly declaring tomatoes most assuredly do not spin around and he must have misunderstood something his father said.  After a few minutes of this Bryson was mulish and my voice had become slightly shrill, and it occurred to me what a completely idiotic argument this was, and if aliens had chosen to listen in to my transportation pod to detect signs of intelligent life, they'd have decided nope, none in there. 

When we reached the church (where Kirstin works) and she came out to collect him, we were still softly scowling at each other.  I explained to her the nature of the heated disagreement her son and I had been having, to which she burst into laughter.

"Tornadoes!" she finally gasped.  "Bryson calls tornadoes 'tomatoes', and he and Matt had had a discussion about them after the last storm we had." 

Oh. Well, that makes sense.  Tornadoes do indeed "spin around."