I keep looking out the window.
It doesn’t matter where I am in this house. I gaze out the windows in whatever room I’m in. My primary closet has a window that looks out onto the front porch and the huge front yard beyond. That sounds weird, but the road is more than 100 yards away. Nobody can see me. It’s a lovely view. Our sunroom, which includes the part that holds my book-surrounded cubby, has five large picture windows. Every few minutes, I look outside.
I am looking for Ozzie the Terrorist Kitty.
That is the name he was given when we adopted him last August. The spelling is different,...
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I have been muddling my way through an interesting but fairly dense book titled Invisible Rulers, by Renée DiResta. To quote the book jacket, she “reveals how a virtual rumor mill of niche propagandists increasingly shapes public opinion.” She makes her case convincingly.
Trouble is, once that point has been made, according to my Kindle, I am only one-third of the way through the book, and I am losing interest. I don’t know if that says something about the author’s ability to hold my interest or about my inability to pay attention over the long term. Maybe both? Regardless, I intend...
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I took an actual walk down memory lane last Sunday morning, while our “fancy car,” a 2021 Toyota 4-Runner, was being detailed for the first time since we bought it used two-and-a-half years ago. Usually, I run it through a car wash that has hard-working folks at the front to spray and scrub it before it runs through the automated wash, then a woman at the end who quickly towels it off. I take advantage of the free vacuum service after that.
However, we learned days earlier that our new puppy Daisy May, whom we acquired from an animal shelter a few hours away, gets carsick easily. She is just...
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O Canada!
Our home and native land!
True patriot love in all of us command.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
The True North strong and free!
From far and wide,
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
God keep our land glorious and free!
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
One of my earliest childhood memories is visiting the Eastern Township of Quebec, where my great-grandmother, a tiny woman we called MéMé, lived near Sherbrooke. MéMé spoke only French. Among the visiting cousins, the theory was that she knew English but refused...
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