Today I wrangled with the weird open box that is FTP. Blowing rust out of the pipes. Tomorrow is my best friend. 🐔
Welcome to my cliché. There’s no other way to say I am sorry for ever looking past, with a cold heart, other people and their pets. Now, with the wisdom of a grandmother, I have said yes to a persistent little voice in my head that whispered Harvey! when I posed the question to myself about which is worse – the shrine I set up for the mice or getting a cat? I distinctly heard the name Harvey come echoing out of the void. I put it aside and wondered if, perhaps, a pooka might be lingering nearby.
It has been a rich and full summer, and now we are here … on the precipice of fall. We’re at the ragged edge of hurricane Florence, with three or more swirling eyes still growing out in the ocean. This is just a placeholder. 🐔
I can’t stop thinking about Melania and her message jacket, seen only from her backside. What does it mean? Does it mean what I think it means? It really looks like an act of rebellion of a newly separated woman, a big “screw you” to whomever is oppressing her. White sneakers instead of stilettos is another clue – she looks ready to sprint, to flee, with her last message fading into the distance: “I really don’t care, do U?”
A fourth Nor’easter is blowing toward us, and the day is gray. Yesterday I rearranged many of my branch-and-twig wattles that I like to make. The windfall of raw materials is abundant, and now a new snow blanket is forecast and our woodpile and twigpiles are secure and covered.
I have been luxuriating in the internet, learning about Cambridge Analyitca and deciding on how to make firestarters from dryer lint, toilet-paper rolls, and melted candle wax. Yesterday I made a mouse feeding station right outside our back door.