C-note did not attend school today. Some wacky day about reading Dr. Seuss books.
It's bad enough to have to get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, but somewhat worse when you find some odd ball of something stuck to the bottom of your bare foot. Thanks Mr. B, for unrolling a brand new roll of scotch tape and leaving it in a bunch for me to step on in the dark.
My landlord's name is Iwao Onuma. He lives in Japan.
Tonight Mr. B is on the roof in his pajamas and he has taken a flashlight with him. Smart fellow. C-note is ignoring the three requests I've made for him to get working on his math homework. He's busy, very busy, yep you guessed it, playing his guitar.
Good News: According to Miss Molly, Mr. B is behaving quite nicely these last few days.
Bad News: Only three and a half more months left in Miss Molly's domain, then it's on to the great unknown.
Interesting News: Mr. B is really freaking me out. He keeps doing little things that make me highly suspicious that he is smart, clever, aware, and hiding under his cool, nonchalant veneer. But how do we penetrate the shield? I'll have to be as smart, clever and aware as Mr. B, and stealth too. I'm up for this challenge.
Just yesterday I showed Mr. B a picture that in the past he has shown no ability to recognize. However, when I showed him the picture yesterday and said "What is this?", he looked at it with great DISDAIN and said "penguin", then looked briefly at me as if to say "idiot", then looked back at his treasures. Very interesting.
Mr. B is on the roof again. This time he's prepared himself by putting on his long underwear, his ski jacket, and his UGG boots. He's got his whole basket of treasures with him, and he's launching them through the air, one at a time, watching where they land in the back yard. Life is good.
Back home after four days in San Diego. Mr. B is looking well, and our humble abode is happy, clean, bursting with love. We even have flowers at the front door due to the many blessings of The Observer and Mrs. P. It's funny, but even though I am forty four years old, I still cry when my Mom and Dad leave. I guess I always will. Thanks for everything, (again).
