When it’s this oppressively hot, with stagnant air and humidity that stays put like a house guest that has long over stayed their welcome, I try to make myself feel better as I feel the first rivulets of sweat trickle down my back at 7 a.m.
This whole pickle jar thing began when our local recycling facility stopped, for some reason, accepting glass.
Regardless if you are a regular viewer of Fox News or not, most folks are familiar with Gretchen Carlson, who worked at the network for 11 years before being unfairly ousted, she now alleges in a lawsuit, for rejecting sexual advances from the network head, Roger Ailes, as well as suffering ‘sexist and condescending’ behavior from former colleag
Most people, I should think, monitor their recovery from a broken bone or sprain by noticing an increased strength or flexibility in their range of motion during perhaps a golf swing, knitting, or simply carrying a bag of groceries.
It all began with glimpsing a cloud in the sky that, even to the dullest brain, absolutely resembled a duck: beak, head, neck, body, and tail, sticking up, the way a floating duck will wiggle it’s tail feathers after dunking its head for a bit of dinner into a pond.
Editors note: Pam’s beloved Bonnie passed away last week. This column first ran in The Greer Citizen last July.
So last Friday afternoon, I broke my wrist (of course, horse related- it’s always horse related) and the conversation, approximately one minute before I mounted up, went like this:
“OK, I can’t afford to get hurt so before I get on, is there anything I need to know about this guy? Any buck or rear?”
God save the Queen!!
No, seriously- God save the Queen! Have you seen what this poor woman was obliged to wear as she participated in the most important date in her annual calendar, the State Opening of Parliament? A 2 lb crown embedded with over 1,300 diamonds and an ermine and velvet robe weighing 15lbs with an 18’ train.
As odd as this sounds, because I’m not even a big fan of her music, Taylor Swift and I have been good friends for quite awhile--to the point of receiving an invitation to stay in one of her palatial homes. When Paul and I entered the front door of her Palm Beach retreat, I kept repeating, “This looks just like Mara-la-go.
Ladies, as you await being taken to the obligatory Mother’s Day brunch with the hubs and kids, and you’ve yet to open the gifts given you by an (supposedly) appreciative family, let me warn you that this year’s gift, in recognition of another year’s selfless devotion to running a smooth household, may just include overwhelming concern for your g
