You may be vaccinated. You may be agitated. But spring, and hope, and cats are marching on, and I hope you’ll come along.
It’s easy to forget that we are animals. But bust out a giant yellow sunball and some temperatures over 38, and suddenly we’re mere, mirthful mammals, reduced or elevated to pure instinct and rebellious giddiness.
My grocery store is fond of reminding me, and the grandmother price-comparing mayonnaise, and the nice man carefully selecting just the right avocados, that “every single one of us has the devil inside.” While this is a worthy avenue of theological discussion, it’s also frankly not true.
The rains in Mozambique have been relentless. The cyclones seem to have a crush on Madagascar. But here in Ringoes, NJ, things are fine and dry.
I don’t believe in luck. Or coincidences. Or the existence of bad cats, bad people, bad Mumford and Sons songs, or good vegan cheese.
Maybe you were kind of a recluse before All Of This. (Maybe “kind of” is kind of an understatement.) Maybe you’re scared to death to admit you’re scared to death of everything returning to pre-All Of This. Maybe there are things you’ve learned to love about a global pandemic. It’s all OK. In fact, it’s […]
When I was asked, as a little girl, what I wanted to do when I grew up, I’m certain I never chirped, “I want to write cat obituaries!” I still don’t. But love bids me otherwise, and here we are again, too soon for another Forever Loved.
I like people who are rough around the edges. Unfortunately, I am not one of them. It’s not even entirely clear that I have edges.
February was not fully perfect. Cases in point: Something has gone horribly wrong with all the butter in Canada. Elvira is no longer ours for the hugging. Daft Punk has broken up. Additional case in point, pointedly true every month: our collective sanity has broken up (HA HA HA I MADE A FUNNY! “COLLECTIVE SANITY” […]
“What would be the kindest choice?” The question is attributed to Mr. Rogers, but its answer lived large in Stafford Rosenberg.