I have questions.
Seventy-five feels like one of those demarcation ages — like 21, 30, and 65 — though I’m fuzzy on what it demarks. Really old, as opposed to just old? Elderly with a capital E? The onset of dotage? Ice floe time? But, but … we don’t feel 75!
Am I the only person in the world who worries about shit like this? Probably.
Now that intelligent and considerate people are masking again, I had a choice to make yesterday: whether to go to the monthly book club meeting in person or attend by Zoom. I chose wisely.
I made one of my periodic treks to Pima Air and Space Museum this morning, wanting to see if anything’s changed. The answer: not much.
See? We don’t always have to choose the stupid thing!
Thinking about Labor Day, which we observed yesterday with company, dinner, and a movie. Company was our friend Mary Anne and her dog Anthony; dinner was hickory-smoked ribs, potato salad, grilled veggies, and corn on the cob (plus deviled eggs and mango gelato from Mary Anne); the movie back-to-back episodes of Justified on Hulu. Here […]
A couple of recent stories in the news caught my eye and brought back memories.