Holy moly, humans. We’re a holey bowl of needers, aren’t we? Fragile doilies. Patchwork jeans. Slim slices of Swiss. But we are surrounded by creatures who consider themselves the living equivalents of chunk cheese. They are more than happy to patch our holes with melty mercy.
We are not the power. Love is the power. But oh, our light-force! when we turn our faces in its direction.
She was named for a peanut treat, but she was no buttercup. She was sleek as onyx, but she was far more than semi-precious. She was a single piece of the mosaic, but she brought peace far and wide. She was Reese. She was ours. And we were hers.
Never let anyone tell you that cats are immune to New Year’s resolutions. The moment applications opened to drive the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile, the Tabby’s Place cats instantly, collectively developed goals. Resolved to support them, I have just signed 100 reference letters.
It has begun. But really, it began before any of us began to begin.
Having spent a significant portion of my formative years in the 1980s, a lot of my pop culture references are considerably dated. Most are still more or less apropos of any given situation.
Sing to me, oh resplendent reader. What are the lyrics running like children through your mind-yard today? Are you sure you meant to open the fence?
For the past 6 months, many of us have spent an inordinate amount of time wearing out our sofa cushions. Recent reprieve notwithstanding, pajamas are getting threadbare, and sourdough is so 2 months ago.
Joe Piscopo, local, comedian, actor, portrayer of a lounge lizard. Bill Murray, not at all local, comedian, actor, portrayer of a lounge lizard. Lounge lizards. Crooners. Performers. Bar acts.
When we are afraid, may we be turned into love. When we are excruciatingly squirrelly, may we be turned into love. When the urge to dance to Pitbull’s song about coronavirus overcomes us,* may we be turned into love.