Butter in the Wild

I was supposed to be hibernating, officially, thanks to testing positive for Covid-19. Standing by, I thought to myself. Standing by, I kept saying day after long wrenching waiting day.

During this time the dog may or may not have chased one’s car down the hill in order to get a daily walk. Safe for people. A bad habit for him.

After an extended hibernation – to wait out the Director’s Covid illness – I went out to see what there was to see. In the winter, in a village that is dying commercially.

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On Stage, on the Page

But Not on My Tongue

These days everyone knows there is a certain trend among some people who experience a disruption in eating. Death is one such disruption. In a court of law, those experiencing the very mild cases of aforementioned trend may or may not find a pulling back on the quiet enjoyment of flavor. Food not tasting good or not tasting like anything at all.

Some people still have not had their ability to discern flavor flavour flaver come back.

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Dirty Laundry at the Bibliotech

I heard it cost less than 9 million, but more than 3 million dollars to build the boxcar, complete with high tech dragon scales on the exterior, behind the library. To make more room. To make way for more people. To motivate such people. To attend the library more frequently.

It’s a thing that created some hubub not that long ago. The librarians had springs in their steps. But the immense windows face a dumpster and a parking lot. The laundromat is within icy spitting distance, which is where I was reminded again that the town planners must be on the same intellectual level as that horrid movie Shakes the Clown. The pass-out drunk in a wig and makeup.

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Grand

Grandma’s birthday is today. She’s pictured here without the bathing cap (her sister is wearing the cap).

Here’s what I knew of her as a not young person sitting at a water hole located somewhere in Pennsylvania of the 1920s.

1) She took each of her grandkids to an adventure with her. Mine was hanging out with her in Europe with Auntie.

2) We had an unfortunate dinner experience in perhaps Liechtenstein where the food was supposedly to die for the restaurant itself was smothering, humid, and the maitre d’ was entirely too hot wearing a tux made out of the finest sheep’s wool (we were not in a sauna, mister). He spent the evening muttering to himself, almost crying, the entire time we were there. We were the only people there that evening. Grandma made fun of him, and then of us, reminding us that we, too, spoke several different languages.

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