Sharing the World with the Undead
Biographical Musings from the Zombie Jar
(Suspicious moans have been heard from the district board office, but no one has gone to explore the little brick building across the street. Frankly, Jocelyn is pretty sure she will be better off if that office is now filled with zombies. Nobody inside has appeared to be using their brains for quite some time… Read More
The biography jar offered up the following topic: Tell about home cures or old wives’ tales for curing hiccups, warts, toothaches, colds, earaches, birth control, arthritis, etc. Ummm… The jar strikes again. What kind of a silly topic is this? We don’t have many such cures here. I suppose I could record a few:… Read More
My soup favorites change with time. Clam Chowder has always been a contender. Various squash soups run high on the list. My current favorite is pozole. I liked the Panera Bread version so much that I bought a couple of cups to go and told Albert to reproduce the contents of those paper cups. He has become much… Read More
The slip from the jar asks a disquieting question: What is a favorite family place to go with your spouse and kids? This question ought to be a no-brainer. When I was a kid, the answer for my parents would have been camping at the Pacific Ocean. We pitched our tent regularly and those cold… Read More
The biography jar threw out a tricky topic, one I tend to stay away from in posts and daily life. Among other considerations, I believe that political oratory becomes largely wasted by the late twenties. By middle-age, nobody changes nobodies mind no how. I can put all the cogent arguments in favor of the Green… Read More
Artist unknown. Another slip has been drawn from the biography jar. Favorite magazine? I’ve subscribed to a few, neglected many. My magazines mostly become end table décor. I appreciate “The Economist” because of its global perspective and regular attempts at objectivity. Bias in the news has reached levels that mostly keep me away from domestic news sources.… Read More
I look to my left and see Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, a stuffed animal with a cute red ribbon around his neck. He always sits on that book, centered in the window of my parent’s cabin. Another Rudolph rests on a shoebox to the side of the window. My mom likes Rudolphs. We write so many… Read More
The granddaughter is glued to the world cup. I glance over now and then, stopping to focus at times. My mom and dad talk to each other across the cabin, oblivious. Mom is watching now, because the game happens to be there. If the game were a cooking show, she would be watching that. She wanders away.… Read More
I’m still in Mineral and my dad is about to paint the porch. It’s supposed to get up to 90 today. Dad was born in 1926. The guy had a pacemaker put in not that long ago. He’s also blind. This is the damndest plan. But I am clueless how to derail the train. When… Read More
If anyone has noticed the blog’s sudden dormancy, I wish to say that I have not given up the journal. I am simply in Tacoma. In Tacoma, one must travel to Starbucks or another internet friendly site to find the portal to cyberspace. My phone provides a weak link, as I burn through minutes like a Santa… Read More
