My friend, Rob

He's been working on a house in my neighborhood. As it turns out, it's my house. I came back yesterday from a long drive back from a nice place on a dune near Lake Michigan. I found this waiting. Progress has been attained and continues to go forward.  Cabinets have materialized.

Another angle.  Lighting not quite as good.

I was gone long enough to miss almost two weeks of tennis with the gang of geezers. I played today and they failed to grant me any slack. It took nine games and more than a set before I won a game. Granted it was doubles and maybe my partner could have carried me a bit while my tennis wits returned. It was nice, however, to smack a few forehands, and nice to see the old gang of mine again. No one made fun of me.

Bill, one of the gang, told me about last Wednesday when the Mendota Heights police officer was shot on Dodd Road. The boys were playing tennis at the time and there was a lot of excitement for a couple of hours that afternoon. There were helicopters in the air overhead, visible at the courts where the gang was playing. There were sirens and apparently every police car in the area was in use, looking for the perp. They found him and shot up his car, but he somehow survived the capture. The police show no pity to anyone who shoots one of their own.  The St Paul paper called him a career criminal.