I like old keys. I always have. I also have a fascination with hotel silverware, but that’s a different post. There’s the obvious symbolism of a key. It represents the entree into something precious, locked away, private. Writers have used phrases like “the key to my heart”, “key to life”, or “keys to the past”…
I can understand why people become dishwashers. I wash the dishes in my house and recently have discovered that I like it. It’s simple and an achievable goal. Two things not often found in my life. There’s a pile of dirty dishes and once I’m done methodically washing and drying (of course I have a…
Last week I went to see Tinker, Taylor, Soldier, Spy. The movie, by the way, was interesting. Very period with a cool pace and if Gary Oldman doesn’t win an Oscar it’s a real shame, but that’s not the point of this post. The entire theatre, at 3:20 when I took my seat, was filled…
Last week I had to go to the post office again because my mail lady is a crazy person. I know we live out in the middle of nowhere and I know our house is down a hill, but if you can’t hang then don’t become a New River Mail Lady. We have a fairly…
I don’t watch football. I know nothing about it. I suppose if the need for categories comes up I am Christian. I don’t go to church and as I’ve said before I have a sense of God and my spirit, but I don’t do organized religion. All that being said, I continue to see Tim…
Playboy bunny cattle prodded in the ass… From time to time I look at the search phrases that bring readers to my blog. The goal is that people are searching for the name of the blog, or my name. Occasionally someone will stumble upon me while searching for something else, but let’s face it if…
I watch Dexter. I’m just starting Season 3 and I love it. I don’t watch it on TV because I hate TV, remember? I buy the seasons and then try to cut myself off so I don’t sit and watch the whole damn thing straight through. Dexter must be the reason I haven’t finished writing my…
Choices. A person’s life is made up, decorated, by the choices they’ve made. If nothing is ever decided or risked the canvas remains blank, but for the few brush strokes made by childhood. Some adults have lives that are blank canvases, very few choices made, risks taken. I understand the fear in making choices, but…