I'm Just Saying

Our local feed store pretty much carries anything one might need to keep a farm running: water troughs, lumber, an ever increasing selection of feed for your horse/cow/chicken/pig/goat, and hay as green as salad.

This is how old I am’, I thought, as I maneuvered my shopping cart around a display of flip flops, just missing an orderly line of patio umbrellas, ‘I remember when grocery stores only sold food.’

The ‘dog days’ of summer have arrived far too early this year as “a stubborn ridge of high pressure continues to build across the south”…and ‘any lingering precipitation will move east.”

Am I the only one wondering that, with these steady ‘leaks’ of UFO stories coming out before the official release of the Pentagon’s report in early June, that perhaps we’re being sort of prepared in case there’s something pretty substantial in that report?

I couldn’t help but smile when I had stopped at our local dollar store to grab a bag of cat litter on Mother’s Day.

A couple of preteen girls were choosing single, fabric roses encased in a plastic sheath, I assumed, for the moms in their lives.

You have to love the Brits.

Whereas on this side of the pond, it is not uncommon to list the cause of death for the elderly as ‘failure to thrive’ when filing out required certification, for anyone over 80 in England, declaring the cause of death to be “old age” will do, thank you very much. As it did for Prince Phillip.

Well, thanks a lot, Pfizer.

Both Paul and I have dutifully received both our Covid-19 vaccinations and heeded the advice given to thoroughly hydrate to help ward off any of the dreaded side effects reported: headache, chills, fever…in short, feeling really lousy for a day or two.

On our mantlepiece sits, in pride of place, an English chiming clock from sometime in the 1940s. Its design is deco inspired and the fact that it hasn’t worked in several years--a result of being over-wound—hasn’t detracted from its charm. It looks as if it were pilfered from the set of an episode of Hercule Poirot.