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 . . .
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 the above paragraph resonates with you, if you can hardly wait . . .
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.
Mostly, I sleep while they are driving, but today my parents seem unusually excited, so I’m paying attention.
My mom and I were playing catch in Otis’s back yard. My mom’s a terrible tosser.
“The picture you see here from Santa Fe is me, laying in a bed of clover,”
“Still, it was pretty funny,” said Scooter. “Until I hear you say that bad word.”
Have you ever smelled California’s Central Valley? Oh my! It is glorious.
I very nearly started to tell you about the massive jet tub that occupies a third of the suite’s space.
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 glad you didn’t have your camera handy.” We are reminiscing, Scooter Sublime and I.
I want to say that real rats run throughout the world but that’s not quite right. There are three ‘rat-free’ places. Do you know where they are?