Malaise AND Season of Grace
I know that the tattoo on my arm says “YES YES YES YES YES,” but right now I’m feeling “NO NO NO NO NO.” In fact, I’ve spent the last several days trying to construct…
Author: mmsw922
Bonus Time
Growing up, “bonus” meant the red tin of fruitcake that my dad received at Christmas from the Farmer’s Alliance boss. Every year. Without fail. No one in our family savored fruitcake. But no one in…
It Ain’t No Time for Lengthy Speeches
This is down in the swampland, anything goesIt’s alligator bait and the bars don’t closeIt’s the real thing down in LouisianaDid you ever see a Cajun when he really got madWhen he really got trouble…
Pleasant
A month beyond my second knee replacement surgery, I’ve had time to consider the bizarre parts of this experience. Including the label I was awarded in doctor’s notes. Formulaic, dictated, once considered almost classified, such…
Invalid
Last evening, I took myself off to bed at the usual time—having done some minor tidying around the house. I’d settled in reading when one of the boys began yowling, thumping, scratching, throwing objects around—somewhere….
Tough as Boots Heroes
For a bunch of years, I’d abandoned Craig Johnson’s Walt Longmire series. I’m three books into catching up with about five more to go. And it took a book or two to remember why I’d…
Sunflower Summers
They are everywhere this year—right now. The lovely scraggly sunflowers of my Kansas youth. Not the sturdy nine-footers that gardeners covet for borders or birdseed. The ones with giant faces–often planted next to the hollyhocks….
Tiger Lilies
Our flowers loved this Montana summer: daffodils and tulips early on; iris and lilacs; and then when the days heated up delphiniums and petunias and zinnias and marigolds and morning glories and tiger lilies. A…
Beyond the End of the Line: Compensating
Helena, Montana, is a very lovely, very small capital city. More a town in many ways. Our official population stands at 33,000, though surrounding suburbs now account for another 20,000 or so. We began life…
End of the Line
In 1980, two months after I moved to Montana, I had to return, briefly and quickly, to Washington D. C. for a hearing. Except I couldn’t. I got there and back, but not quickly. Or…