“Stand here. Watch this,” said Drake to hen. “I’ll quack (taking the initiative), and she will toss us some mixed grains.”
All in A WOMAN'S BRIEFS
“Stand here. Watch this,” said Drake to hen. “I’ll quack (taking the initiative), and she will toss us some mixed grains.”
It’s all good here at the Pine house. Cookies are baked, Christmas tins are arranged by the door, most “must do” stuff is done, and Mannheim Steamroller holiday music accompanies my desk work. THEN . . .
If what I read is right, this celebration seems not so suitable for children. Worse for sleep than the candies consumed by modern Trick-Or-Treaters. I mean, think about it.
We are in the week when Earth blunders its way through a cloud of meteor debris the Comet Swift-Tuttle scatters from its tail during its annual orbit of the sun.
I’m not sure how to respond to having just watched the movie “Everything, Everywhere, All At Once.”
One second! That’s all it took. POW! One second, plus perhaps a zeptosecond or two . . .
I thrust my hand out as a warning. Palm forward. I was serious. “I am in a good mood,” I said, “don’t mess me up.”
It is so like us, we humans.
When we discover that we can do something, like make atomic bombs, combustible engines, angel-food cake, a ghastly scene, plastic, DDT, great music, or in this case, sheet glass; we are simply apt to do it.
Today, early this morning, looking at a setting full moon in a dark sky, curiosity grabbed my attention. “What is it about the number Twelve?”
Earth is fearless. Every summer she barges into Swift-Tuttle’s elliptical territory where a gang, a shower, of its offspring loiter, kicking stones around the galaxy
“You can call it a Tulip tree if you choose to, but that’s no Tulip tree. It’s a Magnolia.” So said the university student with snobby certitude.
We had invited this preppy girl to our home for Sunday dinner (thinking she might be a suitable date for our bachelor son). She stood in our kitchen, looked outside with us through broad windows at our huge Tulip tree standing guard at lawn’s edge, and smartly straighten us out. Our Magnolia, our Dinnerplate Magnolia, was just off to the north, at the edge of our wooden deck.
One stinking letter off on the FIFTH try! ONE Stink’n letter. It’s got to be an ‘M’ or a ‘K.’ Which?