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At Least They're Committed

  • Herald the Ass

    Herald the Ass

    What a strange year this has been. We’re in a lovely neighborhood — a cluster of well-to-do-ish folks, nestled in the center of natives who have lived, worked, and poured (yes, poured, not pored) their lives out into this farmland for generations. In the move, I realized I needed new sheets. Gosh, silk sheets are… Read more

  • Beyond Belief

    Beyond Belief

    I at last have a smidgen of time to myself because the Steelers are losing mightily (take that, Aaron Rodgers) so the TV is turned off and the rest of my family is sorting through documents or taking a much-needed sauna. Thus, since grandson D4 is obsessed with all things creepy (my fault), I remembered… Read more

  • What Keeps Me Up at Night

    What Keeps Me Up at Night

    Six hours and five (forced) minutes. Poor. Two hours and twenty-seven minutes. So bad it’s not even rated. According to my Fitbit, I don’t sleep well. My brain and body agree. But a curious thing happened a few days back: The Fitbit gave me an extra hour after-the-fact, as in when I looked at my… Read more

  • The Only One Not Naked

    The Only One Not Naked

    You know those dreams where you’re out in public and realize you’re not wearing pants? Or maybe you are topless and your boobs (male or female) are hanging out? You’re pretty sure that’s not OK, but it’s confusing to you. Last night was not one of those dreams. In my sleeping state, I realized I… Read more

  • Be Good

    Be Good

    The ball of my right hand is starting to swell, the flesh bright red. Great. All that from attempting to open the door to the small microwave I had ordered for the basement. Yes, we’re 60+ and ‘living in our mother’s basement.’ I have a space that I’m setting up as my office where I… Read more

  • Legacy Lost and Found

    Legacy Lost and Found

    The leaves are gone, the baron trees outside our window give way to burn-scarred earth and sky-splitting sticks of what were once ponderosa pines — jutting from wintry ground that rolls up the mountain. We’re here. Home. The ranch is gone — busy continuing its rebirth after the Missionary Ridge fire of 2002. We’re not… Read more