MA GONE WILD

DEAR MOTHER NATURE: Okay, you know I love you, and I'll be happy to sleep with you for an eternity or two when the time comes, but criminy craps, Sweetpea, did you really have to have a hissy with the snow? Really? Okay. I'm better now. You're still my girl.

RIP, RAY MANZAREK

GOING LIKE NINETY

I'M REMEMBERING A NONAGENARIAN patient of mine.  He was a delightful man I visited regularly at his home, where he still lived well and independently. He'd smoked roll-your-owns, drunk blockade whiskey, and indulged in Caligula-mocking excesses all his life. 

"My doctors told me years ago that I had to quit all that stuff or it would kill me," he said.  "If you like, I can show you where they're all buried."

AN UNDULATION SITUATION

HOPS ON THE RISE, gargoyle on guard, rickety-pickety steps, perennials pushing through the weeds. Now, a front porch swing and I'm good for spring.

SCREEN TEST

TODAY IN 'ADVENTURES IN DUCT TAPE,' yet another reason why you should never hire me as your handyman. I love my front porch screen door, and its fragile, sagging, multi-painted-over framework of well-weathered wood. Yes, I could replace it, but you don't discard an old friend for having a bad half-century.