They don’t care what side of the bed you woke on. They don’t care that you even woke on a bed. They are indifferent to your social status, financial means, gender orientation, political or religious views, or the color of your collar or skin.
They couldn’t care less whether you’re in a hurry or enjoying the slow pace of a casual day. As a matter of fact, they don’t care about you at all, because they can’t care at all. They are neutral to such things, unbiased. Fair. Yet I find that I’m still annoyed by them, their tri-colored rainbow display, especially the red one. Continue reading “The Urban Leveler”
One of the best gifts I ever received as a young teen was a punching bag. I’m convinced it saved … Continue reading The Manner of Our Standing
Jack London’s Credo I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in … Continue reading I Shall Use My Time
To know you’re not forgotten. You have a gift. You have talents. You have a purpose. And you are needed. … Continue reading 7 Daily Affirmations for Finishing Well
Oceans. Mountains. Trees. Birds. Creatures that move on the ground and in the sea. Newborn babies. The sun rises and … Continue reading The Evidence Is All Around
Not all cowboys are born in the West, but its wildness whirls as deep in his soul as the great eddies of the Colorado. Dreams as wide as the high prairies. Ideas grand as the Rockies. His common sense, like a crystal stream, cuts through life’s cumbersome valleys and ravines.
Dusty, dirty, weathered and leathered, the cowboy is not perfect. He is, however, a good man. Continue reading “The Cowboy’s Melody”
Daisy used to climb the high back chair in my office to lay across the top, that is, until the veterinarian declawed her. And that brings up another interesting point. Daisy was neutered that same day, which is why Daisy, you see, isn’t a she. She’s a he. And he’s a cat.
Chester. Tucker. Tyrone. Or stick with Daisy. These are a few names, among others, our family can’t decide on since my oldest son’s girlfriend enlightened us of Daisy’s genital make-up, though I’d known for a while something looked odd. And I apologize. That might sound sexist.
But as best as I can tell, Daisy doesn’t care about sexism. Continue reading “Declawed”