Frenzy

Thanks to Jim Adams, for hosting Song Lyric Sunday. Each week my blogging friend Angie at King Ben’s Grandma plays his game. He gives a prompt (or a series of prompts) and bloggers write a post related to the prompt. Every week, I find myself writing long, rambling comments on Angie’s blog related to the theme du … Continue reading Frenzy

Meat

Gasp. A running post! I can’t remember the last time I wrote about running. You know the adage—don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. No one wants to read me spewing venom about my slow mile-pace, the dwindling distance of my long-run, the way I feel like I’m suffocating three miles … Continue reading Meat

Killing Another

We crammed into Scott’s office, six or seven of us. Wasting time, shooting bull, gabbing. Shelly was there, Gerard, the other Scott—Scott Van-Something, the Irish one from Boston. Me too, obviously, and a couple of others, the normal crowd. The conversation ranged as it usually did, free-flowing, following unpredictable paths. Details are murky, this happened … Continue reading Killing Another

Brood X

The entomologists call them Brood X—the United States' east coast seventeen-year cicadas. The name appeals to me, reminiscent of a late-seventies punk band. Each generation emerges from deep underground, molts, mates, lays eggs and then dies. Their path to sexual maturity extending longer than even humans. Their bizarre life-span leaves them without an obvious predator. … Continue reading Brood X

Sheena

Sheena’s gone; Roz has diabetes; King Tut, cancer. Last week, I wrote about Tommy’s sudden laryngitis. I worried it could be—as cat-laryngitis sometimes is—the onset of a serious illness. Clearly, I worried about the wrong pet. Last night, Susan walked by Sheena’s habitat. “Oh no, Sheena died!” Sheena’s the corn snake we got when Sophie … Continue reading Sheena

The Wait

Every conversation is pretty much the same. “Mao?” *“Mao.” “Meow?”“Meow.” “Mew?”“Mew.” This goes on as long as I want. Tommy loves to talk. Typically, water is involved. He sits on the vanity at the edge of the sink, neck extended like a duck or a goose and rubs his head on the faucet, waiting for … Continue reading The Wait