In the event, Dr. Doom did not show up

I didn't really think she would.

And, in the end, no blood was spilled at Abuela's 80th birthday party. She seemed happy enough -- she'd been poised over her phone all day long and was entirely in her glory when we arrived in the early evening, having heard from (apparently) everyone she knew with enough strength and presence of mind to lift a telephone receiver.

Aunt Josephine commented to her husband Ferdinand that I certainly seemed to be drinking a lot. The interesting things about that are (1) I really wasn't -- no, seriously, I was using a small glass and I was cutting my scotch with ice and soda -- and (2) a Cuban stage whisper is just about as quiet as an Irish one, meaning pretty much everyone heard her. I asked whether the black olive and mushroom and pineapple and bacon pizza came with a hazmat sticker. But, for the most part, everyone was on their good behavior -- and I stayed awake until we got home, too. I sat in my chair, turned on the late news, and immediately fell asleep -- but I did get home first.

On a Friday, that's no mean feat.

My wife continues to say that no one would believe our lives. I know different. I can't cover half of it, of course, and my wife might think my perspective hopelessly skewed, but those of you who have been with me for awhile probably could believe.

Things are, however, a tad hectic at the moment and I'm finding that real world matters are keeping me from blogging here (I'm barely keeping up with The Blog of Days and I set that up with the thought that it would be much less time-consuming). If these were profitable things that were keeping me away from here, I'd be happier. But, of course, they aren't.

More soon. But probably not until next week.