"The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter." —Mark Twain
What’s going on in my life
… we were raised by parents who thought answering the phone with an anonymous hello was rude. We were taught to answer by saying “Woodford residence,” similar to the way receptionists answer with a cheery “Doctor Smith’s office,” or “Acme Plumbing.”
Well, this has been a thoroughly domestic post, hasn’t it? I find I have nothing worth saying about outside news and events. People in the news are being awful as usual, but down at this lowly un-newsworthy level I’m trying to be better.
It’s okay to be whoever and whatever you are, including white, but it’s not okay to say “it’s okay to be white.” Those are code words used by the alt-right. Saying “it’s okay to be white” is the equivalent of waving an All Lives Matter sign at a Black Lives Matter demonstration: your meaning is clear to everyone.
I don’t think of myself as a conformist, although I served on active duty and wore a uniform every day for 24 years. Even today, I feel proud when I put on my uniform shirt to go work at the air museum. I’m still me, but I’m happy to represent institutions I believe in and voluntarily join, and feel like wearing their colors … no different than a Hash House Harrier or Hells Angel … sets me apart.
Color me shocked to learn Trump has found a new way to prop up his money-losing businesses.
These are the best mornings. Up early, walking through the neighborhood while it’s still cool, policing the back yard for dog poop, coffee and a hot muffin for breakfast, a devoted dog by my side, the rest of the morning mine to write, read, or whatever I want to do.
Maybe we did dodge a bullet this time, but do you hear that metallic clicking? That’s the firing squad, reloading.
When I walk Mister B in the morning, I try to remember to carry my cell phone. It’s good to have a camera handy, and the one in my phone takes a decent photo.