I, Muehlenhaus. U, Riedermaus.

In about four minutes I will be without power. I am going to get to experience living like an Amish person for four hours today. I'm hoping I can make it. I stockpiled mineral water in the cool basement. I have a bag of trailmix ready -- though, I don't remember if Amish eat trailmix. And I have a box of tissues at the ready, as today is a funeral of sorts. A massive funeral. Our maple tree, the behemoth that it was, has sighed its last breath. It mysteriously dropped all of its leaves in the middle of August last year. Having just returned from Hungary, I mentioned that this seemed about two months premature, but then thought little of it, instead concentrating on not forgetting Hungarian conjugation. Then, mysteriously, the tree did not bud this year. Or do anything. In fact, after returning from Brazil I pointed out that it seemed quite, irrevocably, dead. Bark was falling off in large swaths, nearly decapitating Mette as she crapped underneath the leafless monster.

So we called a "tree guy." He came and looked. Our prognosis was correct. The gargantuan thing up and died on us. Perhaps we were the worst caretakers it has ever had, although I like to think it enjoyed the sips of bourbon I sneaked it when Birgit wasn't looking on late summer nights. Perhaps it was alcoholic.

In the end, it is coming down today. But in a mashup of technology and nature, our powerlines run right through its dead branches. As do the neighbors'. So the power is coming off today. In about two minutes, as I hear the Beagles next door yelping at the power man. And then the tree is being chopped, mulched, and made into fire wood.

So along with US World Cup hopes and aspirations, our tree is fallen. And this is a really lame way of saying that everything must come to an end. I can only hope Ghana knocks the white socks off of Brazil. And that Mexico avenges North America's otherwise crappy World Cup run. Must post now, before the power is zzzzzzzzzzrrrrrrrrrrrppppppppppp