Would you believe me if I told you that you cannot lose? Would you believe the Law Offices of Ralph & S’mores, LLC?
From where I sit, legs dangling off the edge of the world, ready to be caught by 120 strong cats, I can tell you the following with a high measure of confidence: We have had ourselves a capital-M Month.
You, the radiant creature reading these words, may have any number of hats or titles or vocations or stations. You may be a Dunkin’ Donuts manager. You may be the sultan of Brunei. You may be a grandpop. You may sell yellow legal pads. You may be skimming this on your phone between lunch and […]
I want to tell you about two young men. I want to tell you about a world at war. I want to tell you about peace that passes understanding. I want to tell you about the pieces of peace that we’re stitching together, together.
One hundred eons ago, there was a restaurant near Tabby’s Place with a menu that touched the divine. There were no fewer than twelve salads, all of which had names like This Train Is Bound For Glory and Every Living Creature Is A Galaxy and The Rocket Man Has The Master Plan. (I swear I […]
It’s a song oft-sung at Tabby’s Place: “Insert-Cat-Name-Here had a dental today… …and there were multiple extractions.”
I’ve lived enough lives to know: you do not need to fall prostrate before anyone who begins sentences with, “In the final analysis…” If it’s final, it’s not much of an analysis. And if it can be analyzed, it’s not a living mystery (e.g. you, me, the cats, the trees, the stars, Paul Rudd).
If you’ve ever sobbed your way through Charlotte’s Web, you are familiar with the tender mind of E.B. White. Heartfelt children’s author, gifted New Yorker editor, and co-author of a definitive volume on writing style, ol’ E.B. is sadly underappreciated for his greatest accomplishment. E.B. White is Extra Bonus catlike.
Catching me in the throttling throes of grief, a well meaning person once said, “well, I hope you’re a little less sad each day.” I told her that I earnestly hoped the same. But you know and I know that’s not how sorrow works.
Place your hand on your heart. Place your heart on the line. Find your place in the great symphony of things, and tell me: do you have it all once-and-for-all-ed up? Flash…does not.