Author: admin

… that Billy Bailey is one bad dance step away from being Ted Sadler?

I was upstairs putting food out for the pooches. They’d had a long day with their Karie and I figured they’d eat and then pass out and sleep until morning. As I put the food in the dishes, BuddaBubba came running over and sat there expectantly. But Carm was nowhere to be found. I called him a few times. Then I checked all his favorite nap places on the second floor. Then I figured he was sound asleep downstairs and just couldn’t hear me. So I went downstairs and still couldn’t find him. So now I’m calling in a louder

In a house full of birds, a sweeper is a must. Because I am loathe to keep a sweeper plugged in and visible in my living room all day, and because my sister said something to me to that effect once, I have run the gamut of cordless sweepers. Most are simply not up to the task of sucking seeds off a floor. So I finally broke down and bought the most expensive one I could find. It works really well except for one little quirk. Every once in a while, for reasons I still can’t quite fathom, it gets

I’m part of the 53% Romney claims he’ll represent. And he still won’t get my vote.

How can you not want to read a magazine containing an article entitled, “Medieval bras and panties – what was under those tunics?”

I love my BBC History Magazine. It’s the best.

I’m working in my office downstairs. Upstairs off the kitchen is the deck that usually contains peanuts for the Stellar Jays that hang around here. Apparently I forgot to put peanuts out today. As I sat working, I heard a thump on the window next to my desk. I thought for sure a bird had flown into it. But no. It was a Stellar Jay tapping to get my attention. He clung to the windowsill and glared at me. I took the hint and went upstairs to put the peanuts out. He was waiting for me at the peanut table.

This month’s edition has a story entitled, “Pants and bras in the Middle Ages”. How can anyone possibly not want to read a magazine that contains that article?

Phone rings at 4 AM. I sit up immediately alert, knowing that it means some kind of tragedy in my family. I pick up the receiver with trepidation.

It’s a former client who just wants to chat.

I may have to change professions when I hit my mid-life.

I’ve decided that my obsession with birds stems from the fact that in my childhood, the seagulls and pigeons on the Atlantic City Boardwalk were the only wildlife with which I had any contact.

I’d rather look at my dogs than most politicians. Wouldn’t you?

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