I'm Just Saying

Google, baby

Pam Stone's picture

My friend, Ruby, who is relatively new to the area, texted me in a pickle.

“I’m going to a baby shower and I’ve not seen any baby boutiques in the area,” she wrote.

“Google, baby,” I shot back, while tacking up a horse in the barn.

“Google ‘baby’?” she replied. “Instead of baby boutiques?”

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.


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