This week, I talk about seeking the right word to describe things people do when they get older, and I think I found it.
Here are all the places you can listen.
This week, I talk about seeking the right word to describe things people do when they get older, and I think I found it.
Here are all the places you can listen.
How can all these cars be here?
It’s 8:30 on a Sunday morning. The parking lot at the beach isn’t supposed to be full.
But once we see the beach, it’s not that crowded. The finish line to a marathon, half-marathon and 5K is nearby, so that explains most of the people.
Close to 25 years after getting my master’s degree, I am a college student again.
Well, not exactly. It’s not like I’m sitting in a classroom (or on a Zoom call) with students young enough to be my children.
The “lecture hall,” so to speak, is my downstairs desk.
My pal Renata of Buffalo Sauce Everywhere chose me for this year’s Hallotober Tag.
Tags like these are always fun, so thanks for picking me, Renata!
Plus, she’s one of my best blogging buddies, so make sure you check out her site!
Updated Nov. 1
I saw an article on parents obsessed with getting their children into an Ivy League school that had me wondering when children’s desires stop being their own and start being their parents’ … and what that means.
I did a whole podcast on it, but the article was retracted because of numerous issues. Therefore, I deleted the podcast.
Suzi dropped the two envelopes into the slot, and with them our votes for president, Congress, local offices and a couple proposed laws — choices for which we filled in little bubbles while sitting at our kitchen counter.
About 30 feet away, people were lined up — masked, six feet apart — waiting to go into the town hall so they could fill in the little bubbles that represented their choices.
All of it a little more than two weeks before “Election Day.”
Things sure have changed since I was first eligible to vote 30 years ago.
I ran to pick up my phone, even though 99 times out of 100, if it’s not Sunday night at 7, it’s a junk call.
It not being Sunday night at 7, it was a junk call.
But the location on the caller ID got my attention.
This week, I’m talking about how dreams can be weird, and maybe even a bit scary, but life these days isn’t the greatest when you open your eyes, either.
This is my post I refer to about shopping for oyster crackers and shaving cream.
And this is the piece I quote about how it feels like time is running out this autumn.
Here are all the places you can listen.
Oyster crackers and shaving cream … oyster crackers and shaving cream.
No, it’s not the oddball title of my latest venture (although …), but two things I’d need before Suzi did the proper grocery shopping.
And since my hair had reached its gradually-then-suddenly stage, going to get it cut would be prime opportunity to duck into the nearby grocery store … if I remembered.
Oyster crackers and shaving cream … oyster crackers and shaving cream.