So, I just joined a very exclusive club – one which I never thought anything I wrote would get anywhere near. People, a county in Florida banned more than a thousand books in January of 2024. These included things like Agatha Christie mystries, the ever-vexed “Diary of Anne Frank” (which makes some people VERY uncomfortable…), […]
personal takes on life, the universe, and everything
We have a small dog in the family, a shih tzu that we adopted as a rescue about thirteen years ago. This coming April, Penny will be seventeen years old. She was originally named “Princess” but that name just didn’t wash in the household. We renamed her Penny, keeping the hard “P” consonant to make
The occasion of this recent reread was a discussion of George Eliot’s Middlemarch. At the end one of the groups said, “Why is this considered a classic?” The question took me by surprise. I don’t know why, since I’ve been asking myself that very same question about many of the so-called greats on various lists.
The words we choose to use when we speak and write can bring people joy or sorrow, can make them angry or calm them down, can lead to understanding or conflict. They can excite, amuse, enthrall, and/or inform. A single written word can color the reader’s perception of a subject. In a book of fiction,
I’ve been thinking about the Afterlife lately, the “Other Side.” Many of my friends have no doubt it exists, others have no doubt it doesn’t. I’m not sure, as there are compelling and interesting arguments either way. I know when my mother died in 1986, I prayed, mentally and emotionally demanding her to contact me,
For the last four feline residents of this house, December has been the Coming Home month. The Month of Cats began when I fell in love with a Christmas Kitten – admittedly Boboko and his sister Laptop (don’t look at me my husband named her) came to me when they were eight or nine weeks
Back at the dawnatime, when my Osborne computer was considered the latest poot in portable compooters and a cup of coffee cost less than a paperback novel, pot pies came from the grocery in the po’-folks freezer: 25 cents for something made of crumbly cardboard, lard, gravy, and mushy peas and carrots. And I loved
In the fall of 1974, about a week after I had moved into on-campus housing at Sonoma State University, I walked from my apartment to the main building to check for mail, then re-traced my steps to go to my car. My route skirted the pool. Many of my classmates were enjoying the California sunshine.
Shit Happens is the low culture way of saying C’est la vie, or life isn’t just a bed of roses. Or maybe it is. We’re curled up in luscious intoxicating carmine flowers armed with thorns. My last “Shit Happens” moment occurred two mornings ago when I was walking my dog Django on a loop I
Hey, what are you reading? It’s an invitation. Lemme see. Uh uh. Sounds of paper rattling, a scuffle. You gotta be kidding. It’s from them? An invitation to a Christmas party? So? But what kind of Christmas party will that be? An ornament exchange? Vacuum tube for flash memory? How about a TD visual sensor
oh lord, it’s time to go running around changing all the clocks again. Look some people are afraid of the dark. I get it. That doesn’t mean that the dark WON’T COME, if you somehow re-label an hour and then hopefully insist that this has somehow changed the nature of the Earth’s rotation and that
I like Thanksgiving. I’m not a fan of turkey but any holiday that encourages excess of food and beverage is all right to me. Besides, I can fall into a tryptophan-induced coma in front of a movie, television show, or football game with the best of them. (Picture from here.) But the idea of a