I swear, they sent me there for work

I had to go to Hawaii last week for work.

I visited all the Pearl Harbor memorials.

And saw a lot of the local sites on Oahu.

I found some time for swimming at the beach.

And I saw some sea turtles while snorkeling.

I went to a luau at Paradise Cove.

Then noticed some weird looking dude in a hat kept popping up in most of my pictures.

I'll Never Cry Again

Most of you have never seen me cry. There are obviously a few exceptions, Mom, for instance, saw me cry a couple of times. There was also the "Candy Land" incident which Dad takes great pleasure in bringing up when playing board games with the grandkids.
I understand that it is acceptable for the modern man to be in touch with his emotions and to actually cry on occasion. I once tried out that lifestyle, but had it beaten out of me by a certain older brother who will go unnamed. Now, according to Mrs. Morty, I have become a cold and heartless robot who has no feelings about anything and even if I did have a feeling I wouldn't talk about it or acknowledge it. In other words, I have become a role model for all men.
But I confess, there have been a few occasions recently that brought me to tears. I'd be standing in the kitchen, watching my young children, growing up so fast, being to kind and loving toward each other. Morty Jr would be telling Little Girl Morty what pre-school will be like, and don't worry, 'cause he'll be there at the same school to take care of her. I'd get a little tear in my eye, and try to wipe it away before anyone noticed. I'd have to wipe carefully lest I stab myself with the knife I'd been using to cut onions.
Onions always really get the old tear ducts working. I guess it's good to know that they still work. But no more will I have to suffer the indignity of cutting onions. How's that? you ask. Has Mrs. Morty freed you from helping in the kitchen so you can comfortably nap in your recliner while dinner is being made? No, not yet. But we did buy a new blender with a food processor attachment. Now our kitchen flows with fresh made salsas, finely chopped onions, and other assorted vegetable things that can be cut into little tiny bits by the rapidly spinning steel blades of tear-free onion death.

(If you thought this was going to be a post where I bear my innermost feelings and finally get in touch with my emotions then you really must not know me at all.)