My lens in my phone camera has gone fuzzy.

Now, this would be a great thing, were I taking glamor pics of slightly-older-than-they-want-to-be women. But it ain't worth a hoot when taking pictures of, say, the pool.

                 

We've added that berm to the right of the pavers - it took about a hundred wheelbarrows of dirt, and maybe thirty load of rip-rap and gravel to cover it.

Ethel is having her party on Monday, no matter what I do.

My local grandson seems to be getting potty trained about a year ahead of schedule - that might be nice, were it not for the fact that Pucketts tend to do well, and to do quickly, those things which do not matter. We're great at (say) standardized tests, not so hot when it comes to knowing what is important.

We can qualify for the Boston Marathon in a year and a half of running, and never get a promotion or advancement at work. We can recite page after page of movie dialogue or quotes from novels or poems, but we can't remember to look at the car that's stopping in front of us. We can make great grades in nursing school, and then we start smoking.

Ya gotta wonder just what these brains are for, you know?

Meanwhile, I don't know what's wrong with my camera. It may have a dirty lens, or maybe I've just gotten so old that I can't hold it still any more.  I'm just a little feeble old man, hands shaking while he tries to take a picture.