I'm Just Saying

Should I describe having telephoned someone I tend to say, “I called you.” And when I email or dust off my quill and inkpot to send a handwritten note, I would say, “I wrote you.” Same thing goes for even an abbreviated text.

But for some reason, it’s now referred to as ‘reaching out.’’

The whole adventure began with a last minute call from my agent.

“You’re needed in New York,” he began.

“Am I being considered for Attorney General?!” I squeaked.

There is what’s meant to be an amusing video making the rounds on social media showing a flustered young dog, trying to grasp, bite or chew the ‘bone’ painted on the bottom of his water dish.

Every four years in this country, precisely after midnight on November 9, the Canadian immigration website crashes.

As it did this year.

Alright, I’m going to say it.

And I know this won’t win me any friends. It’s even possible I might alienate every reader I’ve ever had. But here goes:

I don’t like modern day cupcakes.

It is both my prayer and belief that when Joe Mann, proprietor of Big Oaks Rescue Farm, left this earth on Tuesday, beneath a delicate crescent moon during a clear, glorious autumn morning, that he was met by every horse, pony, cow, and assorted livestock that he tried mightily to save but who instead were brought home by the divine physician.

It was with great anticipation that I set up the ‘critter cam’ (also known as a hunter’s trail camera) borrowed from my neighbor, Jay (because Paul didn’t get it for my birthday despite two months of hinting and hiring a sky writer), alongside my arena where, each morning, paw prints of various sizes and shapes indicate some sort of animal rave

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.