The Girl Scouts have rounded up a few adults as helpers and are firmly established in front of our City Market, where in exchange for a few measly dollars they offer to sell me a product which is both delicious and unhealthy.
But, hey, if those were the only cookies that I was going to eat this year, there might be some justification in berating these kids for enabling me in my sugar cravings.
But alas, there will be others. And perhaps a slice of pie or two as well. And some cake.
Pudding … I think that’s a yes. Cobbler … bring it on.
I could save myself the trouble and expense of buying these ready-made products at the Market by simply sitting down with a pound of butter and a bowl of sugar and growling as I dove into them, but that would be gross and an ugly thing for any passing child to see.
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From The New Yorker
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This morning I was reading yet more reportage on the now infamous interaction between Zelensky, Cluck, and Vance this past week. The Cluck followers really are a sad bunch. Lost souls. I fear there is little hope for them.
I know that it’s a bit of a medieval outlook, but this mural from 1260 A.D. about sums up my views on the gaggle that is Cluck/MAGA.
In this painting Satan is devouring a passel of his devotees. Something very similar is happening on our American polítical stage. First their minds, then their souls, and then … .
One has only to listen to anything that comes out of Lindsey Graham’s mouth to see the truth of it.
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BTW, if anyone need a list of why we need to resist our present poisonous government, Margaret Renkl has graciously provided one in today’s NY Times.
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Granddaughter Elsa is staying with us for just under four days, and we are pleased as anything to have her here. There were more frequent visits when she was very young, but as she grew older they became fewer. As often happens.
It’s part of that becoming an adult stuff that parents and grandparents dread and kids can’t wait to have happen. What this all comes down to now is that no visits are taken for granted and no minutes are wasted.
When at long last I finally accepted the truth that change is inevitable and constant I began to treasure these moments more. Although they were always to be one-time occurrences, for the longest time it failed to cross my mind that they wouldn’t be repeated endlessly.
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From The New Yorker
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Out of the ten movies that were nominated for an Oscar for Best Picture this year, only three ever made it to the theater in Paradise. Sigggghhhhhh. I like small town life in so many ways, but it’s tough to be a movie buff when living in a hamlet. One small enough that Hamlet itself will probably never play there.
The powers-that-be in film scheduling for small towns obviously feel that we are mostly into car crashes and comic book heroes, and they feed us a constant stream of digital nonsense as a result. I have no idea if they are right or not, but I wonder if there aren’t more citizens who would appreciate watching an entire movie where nothing explodes than they calculate.
This complaint might come off as just another instance of me being a snob, but it’s really only a plea for fairness, or equal time, or something like that.
Call me a fool, but I love a movie that makes me think. One that holds up the world in its cinematic hand and turns it ever so slightly so that I see it with new eyes.
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Yesterday the air was filled with the noodling and calls of the collared doves that are so plentiful out here. Filled the air for the entire day. Non-stop.
It has to be sex. What else could grab them by their tiny brains and make them sing one passionate aria after another?
For a while the music is charming, but after ten solid hours even the most fervent love song starts to wear thin. Enough to bring on the uncharitable wish they would all just get a room and be done with it.
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Little Home In The Valley 
Wonderful ♥️
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