"When I do not want to say things in real life I often say them here." — Mimi Smartypants
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!
I’ll take just nice, and be thankful for it. So should we all.
Mr. B snagged a pound of hamburger off the edge of the kitchen counter and snarfed it down—including the plastic wrapping. That was a week and a half ago. He didn’t eat for 24 hours. His poops, over the next two or three days, had us wondering if we should call the vet, but he’s back to normal […]
That leaves Marine One, the callsign used by USMC helicopter crews flying the current president to and from the White House. This is the point of highest danger on my tour, because I refuse to say that president’s name. “Current president” is as close as I come; I have to carefully engage my tongue to my brain lest I blurt out “President Individual One” or something worse.
A collection of photos from this year’s holiday season: putting up the tree and decorations, Christmas Eve clam chowder with friends, Christmas morning, visits to the air museum and Mount Lemmon. New faces in the photos are Georgianna and Don King, Donna’s sister and brother-in-law, who spent the week with us, and Donna’s friend Millie, who […]
You may have noticed a trend here toward fewer topical posts. More and more, I write about life, books, and aviation. Two windows are always open on my desktop monitor: one is this blog, the other the draft of the memoir I plug away at. The personal rides shotgun these days; politics and current events ride […]
Remorse, yes; major-sin remorse, no. More like mild feelings of guilt for neglecting the blog, and you, my reader. I knew this would happen when I took on a competing writing task, my memoir, which creeps along in the background, one painfully-extracted sentence at a time. The day before yesterday I sent out a Paulgram newsletter. One of the […]