What Did I Just Tell You,

Reader Dear?  Hmmm?  (A little clue: Things aren't new).

fence-painter extraordinaire

Yes, I tend to procrastinate.  There, you have it!  Ergo, any photo-story that follows is getting more stale by the moment (as all of history tends to do), and the moments have been accruing for about a fortnight (Dear Reader, there are terms in the English language that have aged, as well.  Fortnight.  The word has mellowed; don't you, Reader Dear, find the word more lyrical and lovely than a blunt "two weeks"?):

Milan, the young German guest of The Yard Man and me, had spent two months in this country, yet would be going home soon and would be a whole year older!  (Isn't it amazing how birthdays can work that kind of magic?)  We called together our birthday entertainment crew, and threw a birthday-farewell party for him!

(My Itty-Bitty Actor is taking on speaking roles now, which certainly enhanced the  greetings, to my way of thinking!)

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Auf Wiedersehen, Mailand. Glückliches siebzehntes Jahr!