I'm Just Saying

Not so wild about Harry

Pam Stone's picture

Harry, stop it.

Please—you’ve given me PTS (Post traumatic ‘Spare’) Syndrome with this blitzkrieg of promotional publicity for the tell-all tome about your family, to the point where I’m now adding to the media furor surrounding it.

So you wanna be a mid-life mom...

Pam Stone's picture

I must admit, I’m quite impressed with the women featured in a recent article that proudly proclaim that, because they have frozen their eggs, they can “have a baby anytime I want!” and “I don’t need a man, just a donor bank,” as well as, “I’m 37 now and I plan to wait until I’m 40 before I have a baby!”

Wildlife up close

Pam Stone's picture

It started innocently enough.

When your house backs up to 300 acres of woodland and you don’t have either a composter or garbage service, it’s very easy, at least for me, to, well, lob that apple core behind me when walking into the barn, or that half a tomato that went bad in the fridge.

Or that banana peel.

Charlie Brown tree

Pam Stone's picture

The one time of year that our I-Hop (what else can I name our A-frame cabin?) looks appropriate with its Swiss angles is Christmas. Then our cramped abode is transformed into something of a chalet.

Living life to the fullest

Pam Stone's picture

It was a lovely thing to be asked by an enthusiastic group of seniors, who had chosen my novel for their book club, if I would consider driving to their group residence to speak about it.

Well, of course I would, I thought, the elderly dears.


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