I'm Just Saying

Driving home after a speaking engagement, it was a beautiful evening and I lowered (no one says ‘rolled down’ anymore, have you noticed?) the windows to take advantage of the cool night air and the scent of mown fields that poured past like a green river.

Pauuuuuuuullllllllll!” I screamed, hands on either side of my mouth, as loud as I could.

“I’m right here,” Paul said needlessly.

“Not you,” I replied, and taking another deep breath, shrieked, “Pauuuuulllllllll!”

I don’t like to think of myself as one of those people who, in order to fill some soulless void within themselves, purchase new things as a distraction from what they consider to be the emptiness in their life.

You know when you’re googling ‘dog reincarnation’ that you either are dealing with insomnia (I was), or some highly interesting, if not entertaining, events have been occurring.

I’ve always said that columnists that resort to using lists in their weekly musings are being lazy and not putting in the effort to dig deep to find something new and interesting to comment about.

I haven’t slept that great this past week, so you’re getting a list.

Why do you do it?” Paul asked, after inadvertently finding me standing in the kitchen with my eyes shut with arms crossed over my chest, wobbling about with one foot held off the floor. “Why do you read these on-line medical things that end up scaring the hell out of you?”

I won’t refer to them as 180,000 Phoenixes rising from the ashes, but something rather heart lifting happened after the devastating fire that destroyed the roof of Notre Dame Cathedral.

When I had gone to bed early with the dogs, determined for victory against recent bouts of insomnia, Posey, suddenly jumped off the bed and bounded down the stairs giving Paul, who was nearly dozing in the wing chair while listening to music, the “I have to go, NOW,” look.