The old year has given the warning signs that it’s about to start winding down to a close. The nights have a bit more nip in them than usual and the trees are changing color — “catching fire”, as a favorite aunt of mine used to put it, all reds and oranges and yellows.
Around the kitchen stove in the evening, it used to be a competitive sport to foretell the winter, though one you needed gray in your hair (more…)
“Which one do you reckon is faster?” Cousin Terrance posed the question, and despite the interposition of the Internet I thought I could spy the mischief in his eyes. He’s like that.
It’s one of those questions that inspires some thought, especially considering where it’s coming from. Now, which one would go faster — jet or bike? I’m guessing (more…)
This is what comes of me reading John Gould books: I get the urge to tell stories, and since everyone in breathing distance knows the warning signs by now, there’s nobody left near enough to tell them to without hollering, and my mother brought me up not to raise my voice.
(more…)A lovely lady of my acquaintance once asked me how many of those little pine trees you’d have to hang in the cellar to hide the scent of a corpse. Since I was visiting without a chaperone at the time, that question got me to thinking, and once I’d finished my slice of apple pie I thanked her cordially for a fine meal and made my excuses without tasting her mince. I’m mostly sure she was just making conversation, but I didn’t reach my present advanced age by taking needless risks.
Those pine trees are some powerful, it’s true, but my experience is they just cover things up, burying them in the olfactory noise (if there is such a thing). They hide the lesser sins, (more…)
The Not Fake News 