The Little Words Mean the Most

Power outage from this latest storm >>> The good news?

 

Estimated time of restoration is now 11:45 PM.

The BAD news?

TWO days from now, grid be cursed!!!

 

[cue screaming, descending violins]

However (sing along):

 

Don't cry for me, generator.

Many do not have you. But we do.

Thanks to you-know-who, you are ...

... humming, producing power. And I must say

Sim One brought you to our door!

So ... don't cry for me, generator.

You keep me warm.

You keep me fed.

You keep me soaped and showered.

And I love her ...

... even more!

 

Jen Shang (mom) + James (the Magnificent)

 

At the new Shady diner, Ashley's hand-hewn fries called...

 

... to a certain someone ... who protested she'd already had too many potatoes that day, for breakfast and for a snack ... and her name is:

 

[written to a prospective client] Forewarned is forearmed...

 

I'm thrilled to speak with [first name].

 

[Organization's name here] are my kind of people!!!

 

FYI: Did a nationwide webinar for [adjective] Orthodox rabbis just yesterday.

 

Sure, I was raised Irish Catholic (long lapsed). But I have many Jewish in-laws as well as half my dearest, most trusted, most leaned-on, most splendid, most bizarrely wonderful friends.

 

I love "my" Orthodoxies, still dressed for 19th-century Poland. They hug a lot. For foodies like moi, kosher buffets are to-die-for. I side-step the patriarchal stuff, since "my" rabbis mostly seem to immoderately worship their wives.

 

In turn: they endure me and my profound ignorance.

 

All of which simply adds up to this: I LOVE a good fight!!! (And, as all Irish know, having a stout stick in your hands -- a stout stick made of words, in this case -- can significantly improve your outcomes.)

 

Count me in, if I can be of any use.

 

~ tom

 

 

Case for support show in progress

 

Thought I was finished

 

Turns out, I was just beginning.

And you?

 

Rewriting a caption for a case

 

WIND YOUR CLOCK BACK 20,000 YEARS. Glaciers a half-mile thick once covered this good land. Now they've melted. Tough, vibrant, inquiring humans move in. They hunt, gather, learn, farm, prosper. They make it a good place; an Eden. For hundreds of generations thereafter, Indigenous tribes steward nature well. Then came Europeans. They fish, trade, explore. They bring smallpox. They bring land-avarice. In a few decades, they argue vigorously for genocide. During the next 300 years, according to one scholar’s count, 93.5% of New England’s Indigenous population will be gone, replaced by European invaders and their slaves (and, yes, Rhode Island itself held slaves).

 

A case is NOT about what insiders know....

 

A case is about what outsiders DON'T know ... that will excite them

 

Broken's good

 

Fly herding.

Thing?

Not at 12:49 PM this Saturday.

Nudged by John Haydon, starchy Buddhist

I hand-tried my second-best to sweep a

boing-boing confused fall fly

out around (yeah, almost!) past my office screen

 

instead dislodging Ashley's hanging by fishline

blown-glass Northern Cardinal trinket

which broke across my work desk like a junkyard of pointless adjectives

as I herded the fly to

no end I ever saw

tally: one blown-glass cardinal wing

now some feathers shorter than the other opposing

 

Broken's good, right?