Welcome to the 8/12/97 edition of the Online Murphy TimesTM where we chronicle the continuing adventures of that intrepid Murphy Family© as they climb every mountain, and ford every stream.
As always, please E-Mail us here at firstname.lastname@example.org. Remember, all such E-Mail will become the sole property of the Murphy Family© and will not be returned, even if you say "please." We used to claim that we would answer all email, but since we got so little we decided that maybe the threat of us sending more of this junk scared people off. So now we say: maybe we will, maybe we won't. (You have to keep some of the mystery in a relationship, at least that's what Denise always tells me as she closes the bathroom door.)
Last edition I made one last plea for outside submissions and included a thinly veiled threat to those who didn't respond (well, I must admit it was bald faced). So, hold on to your hats and get ready for Tales of the Extended Murphy Family TM, coming in a future edition. Yes, now you have something to look forward to, an oasis of delight in the barren wasteland we call the Wide World Web. Tune in and catch all the passion, the intrigue, the laughs, the tears, the seductions, the betrayals, i.e. all the stuff that doesn't happen and I will have to make up just to get people to read this rag. Did I mention the Vatican Death SquadsTM?
In this edition (Summer Special #1) we find the Murphy Fearless Leader temporarily sidelined, the Other Murphy Fearless Leader dreaming warm dreams, and the Fruit of the Murphy Loins experiencing a yuppy summer.
Our niece, Rebecca Field, was engaged this summer to Steve Kincheloe. We take this opportunity to extend our
to the happy couple. Mark your calenders and hold August 8, 1998 open for the wedding.
The thud felt 'round the world on July 17 was me returning to terra all too firma. In what was described by an eyewitness as "spectacular", I was able to sprain an ankle (including the optional bone chip), revolve 270 degrees without touching the ground, crack a rib, suffer a variety of abrasions and contusions, knock the wind out, and probably lose conciousness (I think I did, I don't remember it too well) -- all in the space of about two seconds. Who says softball isn't fun to watch? The worst part was that I was called out with two outs and the bases loaded. The first base coach was hollering at me to touch the bag, but for some reason I didn't respond, although the first baseman (or somebody, I'm a little vague on what happened immediately before and after I hit the ground) managed to tag me out. The coach told me later he thought I was out cold until the umpire lifted up on my belt (to help my breathing) and I said, "You'd better stand back if you're going to open that." And I can't even say you ought to see the other guy since the first baseman, who crossed into the basepath chasing a bad throw, didn't seem to suffer any ill effects from our collision. Well, at least I am able to just wear a plastic cast, and not some plaster thing, which would be a real hindrence at the beach, which is where we are going on vacation. And if one more person tells me I'm getting too old to play softball, I'm going to hit them with my cane.
This summer the kids have celebrated their release from school yuppy style - they've been busier than when they were in school. Between summer school and camp (2 different ones for Erin) and afternoons at the pool, and I don't know what all else, they've run Denise (who's retired again) ragged. In one of our swifter moves, we switched to a summer bed time of 8:30 from 7:30, despite the fact that Erin had to be at summer school an hour sooner than regular school! Still, you have to let them stay up late enough to catch the lightning bugs, or there is H E double toothpicks to pay. The high point of the summer was when Uncle Sean and his family came to visit and Erin and Kyle got together with their cousins Veronica, Max and Mark. That allowed them to have kind of a mini-vacation here in St. Louis before we even get to go on ours.