No, Butch. Your Chin Goes on That Strap. Not Your Nose. Your Chin. Put Your Forehead on the Lever. No, Butch. Not Your Tongue.

Actually, Papa Butch did very well at the optometrist, after he lost his glasses and became fixated on getting a new pair. They are the ol' Empire Vision crew and said, "We haven't seen Butch in 15 years." He instantly pulled out four pairs he liked and then we let the workers finalize the best fit for his face. 

I was also impressed at how well he made it through his letters, considering a week ago he didn't know where he lived, the name of his grandkids, or what year it is. He definitely has stepped up his head game since I've come home, although he doesn't remember asking for a girl puppy dog for his birthday. 

Papa Butch is 82 years old today...a 1942, WWII baby (grandpa Ken keeping an eye out for Nazis raiding Sherburne, NY cows). He's not too cognizant it's his

day, but he also ordered steak for the day and got into birthday donuts rather early. It's all good. He's entitled to a powdered donut with the jelly filling if he wants one.it's supposed to rain all day, so it won't be front porch people watching or walking up and down the street putting garbage bins at the sides of houses.

Grandma Vera and Grandpa Ken's baby boy is 82, and he left his Sherburne mischief to his youth. 

Wish we could take him to Chubby's for a bear, but they closed down for good, and with that went most of the hobbies and habits of this birthday boy. He may be a little sore today because he got on the ground to play with Karal yesterday while Mike was visiting. AND he got himself up without any help from the rest of us.

Yes, it was a very good day and we're hoping today will be more of the same with a homemade pie baked by Casey.

Here's to my dad!