Oh, no,” I said grimly to the orange tom who appeared routinely last winter, glaring through the windows and terrifying our other cats. “You are not welcome here, you brute.”
I'm Just Saying
An English friend of mine, during our emailing back and forth, replied to my description of Mother Nature’s menopausal fluctuations of weather, ranging from 52 to 82 all within a couple of days, with a description of her own after suffering high winds, snow showers and hail: “We’re having Equinoctial gales!” Not since I heard Mike Sidel from The
If the iconic English Romantic poet, John Keats, could write Ode to a Nightingale, and Ode on a Grecian Urn, then perhaps I, just over two hundred years, later can also wax poetic about the greatest love of my life.
I shall call it Ode to120 Cheratussin AC 10-100MG/5ML.
I’ve got to hand it to Chris Storie.
You’d think by now I’d know that any time I try to appear anything else than what I actually am, it goes pear shaped.
My regular lunch date with Junior included Paul this past week as I had been giving him breathless descriptions of Junior’s, daddy’s (we don’t say, ‘father’), home place, seen from the pinnacle of Glassy Mountain, on the side of Hogback, easily visible through the bare, late-winter trees.
In speaking to friends in the field of psychiatry, and reading from two respected scientific journals, it appears there is a noticeable uptick in people, Americans, mostly, seeking mental health assistance to deal with the trauma of current politics.
Here’s a little tip to those of you would-be writers out there from your Aunty Pam: when you begin the promotional book tour for the release of your debut novel and find yourself happily chatting about it on morning television, maybe mention its name.
“How’d it look?” I asked Paul upon arriving home two hours later.
I think,” I announced to Paul after watching an episode of ‘Travels with Rick Steves,’ “We must consider retiring to Ireland.”
“I thought you were all about retiring to some medieval Italian hill town,” Paul replied, not looking up from the highlight reel from Kobe Bryant’s last game.
As far as I’m concerned, the funniest (saddest?) story of the week featured Lawrence Ripple, age 70, of Kansas City, who, according to various news reports, walked into a bank with a note that read, ‘I have a gun, give me money,’ and after receiving the cash, calmly waited for police.