Because life isn’t quite exciting enough under a pandemic lockdown, many of us went through one helluva storm in the wee hours last Monday morning.
I'm Just Saying
We had, within the congregation of our Episcopal church, an inspiring woman who was famous for her vast collection of hats. Elegant, many, quirky, a few, with matching pocketbooks, my favorite was a dark green one shaped like watering can.
I smile at the sentiments expressed by the likes of Dolly Parton, who, among others, has declared, “When this passes, we’ll be better people.”
So, how ya doing?
We go through a lot of rugs in this household.
I mean, a lot. Something like every two to three months. Too many elderly bladders and delicate stomachs reacting to having secretly ingested something disgusting from the manure pile are the usual culprits. And then there’s the dogs and cats--
I am not the first to say it, and for this I am very glad, but it appears there is a ‘community spreading’ occurring in our little town as well as those surrounding it.
I’ve become quite the fan of Dr. Anthony Fauci, the head of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious diseases. You’ve probably seen him sitting or standing to the left of President Trump during press conferences.
When Paul’s sister, and Michael’s mother, Liesbeth, as she was affectionately known, passed unexpectedly last week it was a sucker punch for all concerned.
Oh, those little behaviors that sneak into ones (or, let’s be real, my,) vocabulary that signify the advent of becoming an ‘old timer.’
It’s been suggested, despite our dogs being litter mates and pledging allegiance to each other first, with nary a second thought for Paul or me, that they are suffering from separation anxiety.