I’m not surprised that I still build winding paths through every garden I’ve planted. It’s exactly how I ramble through life. Mystery, surprises, adventure and exploration define my continuing lifestyle.
Between the continuing events in Japan, the breakdown of our own democracy, and the passing of Robert this morning, I can’t seem to get the spirit of the Irish excited enough to don the green or even hunt for a four-leaf clover.
Maybe because the magnetic North Pole has shifted closer to Siberia than what my world atlas indicates, we’re shifting into Mr. Well’s likely interpretation of “ Inception.”
The vitamin aisle was next. Nope. Not one brand came in glass jars. Sigh.
I know cocaine users and I don’t like them. When the opportunity arrives, I don’t mind reminding them how their habit or recreational use is one of the most socially horrific acts they can commit. It’s selfish and with consequences—
I’ve concluded that scribing a memoir, on line, on this blog site, is lunacy. If Hemingway were doing this, he’d have visited self-annihilation much earlier. Swimming with hungry sharks seems more rational.
Whales command my attention for a day.