Suddenly there’s no traffic. We’ve never heard so many birds. We could get used to this.
Maybe we should come up with a standardized personal space reminder phrase, something along the lines of “Distance, please.” You know, like skiers and bicyclists with their “On your left,” like the French with their “bonjours,” like that one friend we all have with his “You gonna eat those fries?”
In 2011, when I started leading visitors on walking tours of the aircraft in Pima Air and Space Museum’s exhibit hangars, PASM had a fantastic volunteer program.
Kids, wear your damn sunscreen!
You’ve probably noticed a strong turn to the personal here at Paul’s Thing. I’ve been writing about the things that make my life worth living, avoiding commenting on the things that make me wish people were better than they are, that we lived in a happier, more humane world.
I guess you could argue that the advent calendar is religious equivalent of the Festival of Lights, but I want candles too!
It’s been a couple of years since the Southwest Woodfords have assembled in one place. But family gatherings are what Thanksgiving’s for—at least that’s what it’s come to mean for many American families, ours included. Not only are we together, we even proved we can hold still long enough for a group photo.
I don’t know if Trump will resign (even if he’s impeached, he certainly won’t be convicted, so giving up à la Nixon is the best we can hope for), but if he does we’ll have Pence, and if Pence has his way we’ll have Gilead. Atwood is a timely read, to say the least.