Hold on. This blog post promises not to be easy reading. Simple, perhaps, the way navigating a maze is simple – one foot in front of the other.
Hold on. This blog post promises not to be easy reading. Simple, perhaps, the way navigating a maze is simple – one foot in front of the other.
Let’s hand it to the Scots. Scooter couldn’t care less. Scooter Sublime of Heron’s Key has one word for snow: FUN!
Then Scooter Sublime stops. Scooter stops at one particular slender stalk of wild grass, one in a patch of hundreds of others like it. He’s paying no attention to anything around him now. Scooter is meeting a blade of grass.
While modern universities encourage wild dreams and creative unfocus, I’m of the old school — enforced discipline, sharp focus on fundamentals.
A lie. I created one recently. A major misrepresentation of truth. But, you know, a good one.
Imagine then, the afternoon of December 24, 2020, when for the first time, my human Mom and I met a particular Labrador retriever; a shy, but beautifully black-coated, stately standing, well-behaved dog (But, that’s a Labrador for you).
I chose earrings this morning that I haven’t had in my ears in years. I bought them, along with the festive necklace they match, in a Philadelphia department store.
It’s a weighty thing, this season of celebration, but it’s a Jewish thing, really . . .
They delivered a dehydrator that cycles sound similar to a tugboat running through sea swells. It’s comforting, that sound
Lickety-Split! Scurry-Hurry!
Shepherds ran into each other Stepped on other’s toes and tripped over sheep as they rushed to the village seeking a stable with a lantern still lit . , .
Off the leash he was! In the woods he ran! Crazy with joy he was as he familiarized himself with the campsite bank, some fifty or so feet above the Hood Canal shore.
Correction — sometimes one seems required. So it was that the final paragraph of #7 A Woman’s Brief’s got changed.
Suzie died yesterday. We who watched the inevitable were not surprised but, oh, yes we were. Just as I hate that the sound of the Singing Bowl leaves me, I hate that death sends a very real Self away from existence as we know it.
And so, in 2020, PineAweigh settled for sprints rather than distance running.
Wait! I have family, friends, and acquaintances expert enough in fields of politics, theology, ethics, finance, science, and social do’s & don’ts to turn statements of “seems to me” to “no question about it.”