The Tailor of Chillicothe

This isn't a story about an old man who makes clothes for a living and how he received a commission to make a wedding suit for the Mayor of his city, but after gathering all of the material and most of the thread, he became fell so sick and that he couldn't even get out of bed to work on the suit, ,and then on the day of the Mayor's wedding he stumbled into his shop in a panic only to find the that the suit had been beautifully finished by some mysterious unknown source, which turned out to be all the mice that lived in his shop. There's also not a part about his cat, who's not nice and who tries to eat the mice, but needless to say, fails.

No it's not that story. It's not even a story about a tailor (capitalized or not) or even about Chillicothe, which is a town in Missouri and also was the name of a factory in my quaint, little hometown of Leavenworth, Kansas. The factory was named Chillicothe Industries, but we called it the "Cotton-Pickin, Chicken-Plucking Machine Making Factory" for reasons I never heard. But I always pictured it making machines that plucked chickens. Maybe it did, who knows? I  should write about that another time, maybe.

Nope, this piece isn't about any of those things. The fact is, I don't a subject for this piece so I thought I'd just write to get my fingers all moving this morning. It's good for them and it makes my brain warm up a bit as well.

A busy day of little things planned and I am right on time to get it done. Ben graduates from High School tomorrow afternoon. I'm very proud of him.

Guess I should get started on some stuff.

More later.