Life is complicated. Truth is complicated. Looking for simplicity in a sea of tangled webs (how d’ya like that mixed metaphor?) would be futile and most probably frustrating.
I don’t know….would you want to go back to start this year over? Sure would be nice to never have heard the words “COVID-19,” or “social distancing,” or “stay at home,”, “face masks.” And the last few weeks? Well, that’s a blog for another forum, not here, not by me.
June is arguably the best of months. It has the Strawberry Moon. It has the promise that you will always be a bride. It has Wonder Woman.*
2016 was a doer of some dastardly deeds. The New Year is still nearly formless and void. But a very good spirit is hovering over the waters here. It is the spirit…of birthday cake.
All politics is local. Someone famous said that, but cats proved it.
If nobody liked what you did, are you likable? If nobody knows you did it, did it happen?
Fads are fads and facts are facts, and rarely the twain shall meet. This is especially true when it comes to cosmetics and cats.
We are connoisseurs of irony at Tabby’s Place. For instance: The cats of Suite B are currently playing with a tiny stuffed George W. Bush.* The cats with inflammatory bowel disease live in our staff lunch room. And cats — or, at least, one cat — can acquire sleep disorders.
There are months that wound and months that heal. November 2015 did both.