I trust that this evening finds my vast readership alive and well, having dodged the bus-sized bullet of NASA's wayward weather satellite that came home to roost yesterday. Funny. They can put 12 men on the moon to go for a sunlight stroll, but they can't calculate the time and location of returning Earth-orbit kibbles and bits? Poppycock!
The #1 son wanted to go to a movie with his buddies last night. A 10:00 showing. I did not particularly want him out so late. I tried the old ...but a chunk of NASA's falling weather satellite might crush you argument. Let's just say it was less than effective. I allowed him to go, with the caveat that he had to keep one eye on the sky and be ready to employ defensive driving techniques.
My mom said she had been worrying about the sky falling, as well. "I was thinking, maybe I should sleep in the basement tonight." I assured her that if it was her time, and the Express Cross-Planet Satellite had her number, it wouldn't matter whether she slept in the basement or up on the roof. Which may not have been such comforting advice as I imagined.
Anyway, we're still here.