When I posted these chairs for sale on Craig’s List, there was immediate interest. One woman emailed asking if she could stop by on her way through my neighborhood to take a look at them between 4:00-4:15 that afternoon. Fine. At 4:00pm, a car pulled up, so full of stuff that you couldn’t see into any of the windows. A man got out and said to me, “I want the chairs.” I explained that a woman was coming to look at them in a few minutes and suggested that he wait. “She’s going to want them,” he said as we walked to the patio. “I really want them,” he said. Then he offered me double the price I had been asking. WWJD?
May 24, 2013
May 23, 2013
May 22, 2013
May 21, 2013
Just when people are starting to complain about the heat, a reminder of the alternative. I like snow. When it’s decorative. When it’s inconvenient, not so much. This winter, though the big white seemed to stay away until February, it made up for lost time, showing up what seemed like every weekend thereafter. Blizzards with names like Nemo and booster shots like Saturn & Co. The only good thing about late-winter snow, I think, is that the end is within reach. Crocus pushing through one day. Fourteen inches of snow the next. Enough already.
May 20, 2013
Evidently this jogger didn’t receive the “request” for citizens to remain indoors while armed soldiers, SWAT teams, state and local police, snipers et al. patrolled the sleepy streets of my town. From my window I watched as he was forced to the pavement, detained and questioned by dozens of law-enforcement officials for an hour before being allowed to walk the block back to his home. Of course, it couldn’t have helped that he was a young man with dark eyes and dark curly hair, just like the Boston Marathon bombing suspect the manhunt was seeking that tense afternoon a month ago.
May 19, 2013
Good morning! It’s not every day I look out into my backyard and see snipers. But then again, April 19, 2013 wasn’t every day. One month has passed since SWAT teams filled my neighborhood, looking for the Boston Marathon bombing suspects. The psychic undertow (my friend Karen’s wonderful term) diminishes slowly.