It's Luxurious Saturday here. It's mid-afternoon, and so far, I'm still in my pajamas. I've spent the day hanging out with the doxies and reading. Among other things, I read the latest issue of Vanity Fair cover to cover. Bliss!

So, this is the issue with Tiger Woods all shirtless and sweaty. My first thought was, "Look at those abs. I wonder if that's what I look like, seeing as how I've done Shred five of the last seven days?"

...then they're cutting off your balls and spine by making you go shopping for lady bras and lady candles and other punishing, interminable tedium... 

This isn't one of those times. This is the view from Mr. and Mrs. G's window.

It's nice to go away and remember how lucky you are to be married to a nice guy.

God willing, Mrs. G. thinks there might be 20 more good years in the making.

Viva el Amor!

And the winner is (Annie of greenbeans@yahoo). Congratulations! Please send your snail mail address to mrs.ggggggggggggggg@gmail.com and we'll get it to you. Thanks to everyone for playing!

This morning I made whole-wheat bread. 

The wheat originated from a dusty 5-gallon bucket under my counter, marked "1976" with permanent marker in my dad's handwriting.  The honey flowed from a blackened tin can marked "1974."

Thanks for all the emails directing Mrs. G. to the February issue of GQ. She picked up a copy today to read on the airplane. Johnny is better than a calmative.

There are people who jump off cliffs. Literal ones. Really big, tall cliffs into rock (and possibly shark) infested waters. Or there are people who careen down the Matterhorn in flying squirrel suits or tie heavy pieces of elastic to their ankles and jump from bridges. And let us not forget the people who leap from moving aircraft with 30 pounds of nylon fabric keeping them from an intimate and precipitous meeting with the ground.