Paul has commandeered what has long been affectionately known as ‘the Unabomber Shack’ which served as my radio studio for years, and turned it into a wood workshop.
He’s 62, a man, and as you know, this is required by law.
There comes a time in everyone’s life when the topic of conversation bandied back and forth between friends jumps from grand adventures planned, or even chatty daily trivialities, and focuses instead on the moroseness of health issues. It begins subtly:
“I’m just not sleeping like I used to.”
I was quite proud of our recent snowfall in that it behaved as a good southern snowfall should: it gave us a serene eyeful of blanketing beauty and was plentiful enough for children to have customary snowball fights as well as build a snowman.
There’s a sort of prayer, should one be so inclined, known as contemplative prayer in which one doesn’t present God with requests or needs but simply seeks to abide with their maker.
Well, that certainly explains a lot.
In a recent study at the Medical Research Council Social and Public Health Sciences Unit in Glasgow, results revealed that the IQs of children tend to be akin to their mothers’.
The house smells funny,” remarked Paul, coming in from a recent errand and placing a bag of groceries on the kitchen island.
“The house smells clean,” I replied. “It’s just that you’re not used to that particular scent with four cats and two dogs.”
Remember the scene from A Charlie Brown Christmas in which a despondent Charlie, finding no joy in the upcoming holiday, sits on the other side of Lucy’s makeshift ‘Psychiatric Help’ booth in the snow, grasping for answers?
Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls! It’s time again to play…(insert woman screaming)
What the Heck is in my Tack room?
Look, I expect mice.
Mice live in barns, no matter how tidily you keep it.
Ask anyone who works outside for a living who might begrudge rising from a warm bed, and in my case, stumbling out into the freezing dark to the barn, and they will tell you there is nothing, I tell you, nothing, like observing a winter sunrise.
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