I've been waffling with the idea of expanding my reading audience.

One of the things about getting older is you can look back, some times with rose-coloured glasses, and take stock.

The gargantuan level of silencing dissenting voices is deafening.

Trying to avoid abuse rather forces one to hide.

Upheaval is the clearing house of bullshit.

Did there used to be a time when tradespeople were properly trained and apprenticed?

Eventually, the purple on my foot will recede.

Paul and I are starting out the new year with Covid.

Merry Christmas etc. and Happy New Year!

Trouble is we live in a world that is forever putting us in boxes

I am, shall we say, uncomfortable around large bodies of water.

Back in the day, before everything had a microchip in it, there was ON and OFF

Life doesn't get any simpler than when a delightful living being shares its day with you.

Let's start with the premise that life has meaning.

I don't know if there's ever been an ideal time to grow old.

Free range time is an antidote to the monkey mind.

Aspects of history we could, maybe even should, bring forward to the here and now.

Because it is those intrusions that I find so unsettling, so dispiriting. I don't invite them in; they are not welcomed guests.

But, what about Mother Nature? Is she all "I've been doing it this way for eons, so let's not fix what ain't broken"?

Not that I've ever been good at small talk but it's become even harder now that I haven't had to engage in it for over two years.