Loving other creatures is not for the faint of heart. As we relearned too well this week, love can leach our tears and our wails and our patience.
There are weeks that power your perseverance, and weeks that push your fist higher and higher into the restless sky. The start of September in Ringoes, NJ was one of the latter. We lost Meatball. We lost Tyke. And I’m not ashamed to report that we lost our patience with reality.
Did you eat local at every farm market? Did you “fweeeee!” around every Ferris wheel? Did you summer your summer to the summaximum?
Summer may be cooling down, but Suite B is heating up. At least, it’s heating up in the province of Leah‘s mind. In this round of Tara Talk, our Simba-smitten volunteer offers advice for Simba’s not-quite-lover. Write on, Tara.
The freshman class is matriculating. Orientees are orientating. And graduates of Tabby’s Place are celebrating.
That title isn’t exactly accurate. Geriatric throw-downs, plural, endless in plurality, would be more like it.
It would be easier, neater, if we could map all the outcomes before we did any of the intakes. To play nothing by ear. To get caught off-guard exactly 0% of the time. To hedge every bet, tighten every loose end, prevent — at least anticipate — every heartache.