The scribblings of an elder statesman . . .

Evelyn and I got all gussied up and went to the Del Mar Country Club in Rancho Santa Fe this evening. For those outside the area, that's veddy, veddy rich country.
We mingled with the rich and famous, gorged ourselves on appetizers, roast beef, desserts. They had all kinds of expensive wines but I settled for one expensive beer while Evelyn had iced tea. We are such party animals! The soiree was a preliminary Patron Party for the supporters of the Helen Woodward Animal Shelter; next week is the big black-tie gala. I shall not attend the black tie gala as it is hard enough to get me in long pants, shoes and socks, let alone a tuxedo. They had a number of beautiful dogs on leashes . . . one, a black Afghan, was just gorgeous and she managed to steal my heart. Another, a German wire haired spaniel was also a good looking mutt . . . and they had a world famous trainer to the stars, Bill Berloni, who wrote a book, "Broadway Tails," about his training dogs for broadway, tv, and the movies. He told about rescuing a chihuahua that was vicious and destined to be euthanised that same day. He adopted her and trained her in no time. He had her at the party, and demonstrated how she would bark on command, how she would perform different tricks on command, while the cameras rolled and Bill was off-camera. Interesting presentation. No one had been able to control that dog until he came along, calmed her down, and began to train her. Kind of like "The Dog Whisperer." Marie Cunning, wife of one of my best pals, bought me an autographed copy of his book. Haven't read it yet, but shall. Eventually.

The party started at 6pm and I think it was about 7:15 or 7:30 when I suggested to Ms. Madison that we head for home. (I told you I was a party animal). As we left and rolled through the beautiful Rancho Santa Fe country with all its stately homes and ranches, I told Ms. Madison that if she really loved me she would buy me one of these cute mansions - that it would allow Trixie to elevate herself to be in the company of her equals. Ms.Madison asked who would look after Trixie in such a big mansion.

Ever quick on my feet, I answered, "Oh, my very good friend, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and I, would commence to interview maids forthwith."

"And how would you pay this maid," she inquired.

"Oh, I'm sure we could work out some kind of barter system," I responded.

"I doubt she could live on $5 a month," she said.

Women are such hateful, smart asses!

We had originally accepted the invitation, not because we are big, wealthy patrons of the arts, but because (a) we came on a press pass, camera in hand, to do a story about the soiree and its mission to raise money to save animals and benefit the Helen Woodward Animal Shelter, and (b) I had originally thought to lineup patrons as possible supporters for the grandiose idea I had for my "Forever Home" idea. As you will note in a separate email, sent earlier today, I learned that idea simply is not practical nor realistic . . . so am busily revamping my goals and plans.

Planning on one, maybe two, more concerts. Looks like July 23rd for a Beach Boys Tribute Band concert and another, less certain of date and time, of a Gospel Jubilee. The Gospel Jubilee I'd have to build from the ground up. Locate hundreds of gospel singers, call them in for auditions, select the cream of the crop, then put the show together. Have a dress rehearsal or two, and then launch.

Remarkable. A dedicated heathen, promoting a Gospel Concert. Hey! It's good music and I tap my toes to it, like anyone else. I even hum or sing gospel songs around the house .. ."Amazing Grace," "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot," "I'll Fly Away," and my all-time favorite, "What a Friend We Have in Lyle . . . "

I reckon we can enlist a lot of churches to sell tickets and keep a portion of ticket sales as a fundraiser for their own church. One pal of mine, when told of the plan, said, "Lyle, we could sell out that concert just from our own church." I like the sound of that. We shall see.

A lot of scut work to do tonight . . . but I think I'm just gonna let it slide. Next week's cover story and the rest of the paper is about 95% complete so I can coast for a bit. Besides, my eyes are giving me fits lately. Vision is going, going, going.
Gonna get an appointment with an optometrist and see if I need a new Rx for glasses . . . maybe those glasses with lenses like Coke bottle bottoms. Evelyn says it's because I'm in front of the computer for 12-15 hours a day. And, of course, she's right. She almost always is.

Just learned today that she had a medical appointment yesterday and the doc told her she was pre-diabetic . . . so she's gonna exercise more . . . and I may just tag along. Maybe, together, we can lose weight and chase away the nasty old diabetes.
Not particularly painful for me . . . toes are numbing up (normal diabetic neuropathy) but other than that, just an inconvenience and I get tired of taking the damned meds all the time, and testing, and taking insulin, and having to be careful of what I eat and drink. Maybe she and I can beat it together.