The Ticking Time Bomb Comes Home

Agley is how Number One Son's plans might have been said to have ganged, but I don't think even he feels that way. Yes, it's true that in June, the mortar board and gown had seemingly just been doffed when he headed west to The East, there to seek, if not his fortune, at least a job in the Middle Kingdom, at to dwell there at least for a while, perhaps a year or so. But though there were several small successes and some adventures of the pretty cool sort, pushing and shoving came to pass, largely from The Visa People, and rather than dance madly around the robins, he packed his kit back and headed home, where he landed with all wheels touching down at the same time, a soft landing and a welcome back, and to stay for a while again he is here once more, and there is general gladness and tranquility.
Then again, there is the urgent need upon him to built the yurt (or ger, as he would (admittedly more accurately) insist upon calling it) in the back forty, but this burden can be born and endured, and it is to be hoped that the thing is a success. Time, that great tattletale, shall tell.
Meanwhile, the calendar hints that Fall is fell once more, and the Soccer Schedule confirms the fact, as we sit in our folding chairs in the cold, drizzle and damp, watching Sons Two, Three and Four sally forth and back over sodden fields, all the while attempting to chivy the defenseless leather orb past the unfortunate goalie of the hostile opponents.
If one thought about it too much, one might think, "Wait, if this is Fall, Winter might be coming soon!" and shiver in anticipation and think about thoughts of preparation. Luckily, no one has time for such things, we're all too busy keeping up with today, which is fain upon us....