Lard and ashes
One day, carnival carousing. The next, dust and ashes. Such is the Lenten kickoff dance.
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Lard and ashes
One day, carnival carousing. The next, dust and ashes. Such is the Lenten kickoff dance.
No lobby for old men
So let’s say you’re old — somewhere between Bernie Sanders-old and Brontosaurus-old. Let’s say you’re a little bit decrepit. OK, maybe more than a little. Where are ya gonna live?
The joke’s on us
Alright, me hearties. Belly up to the bar of joy, because your daily dose of hope is here.
Unending reign
If I can avoid it, I don’t like penning two sad posts back-to-back. Today, I can’t avoid it. But given who’s the source of sorrow, I can’t be too sappy, either. Not if I don’t want a certain sleek little mink of a cat to haunt me haughtily.
The beat goes on
I’m not gonna try to drizzle this with syrup, kittens. We’ve been battered, beaten and boxed about the ears this month.
The Smokey gun
“Who is that cat?” “Which cat?” “The one with the thing. You know, the thing. That thing. The neck thing.”
Exegesis of goodbye
The equation always holds, but that never makes it feel right: The longer you’ve loved someone, the larger “goodbye” looms.
Irresolute
Resolved: 1) To get more riboflavin 2) To take Orion to a Mumford and Sons concert 3) To finally, truly, deeply understand the soul of the cat
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