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I have so few adventures these days that even the smallest blip in my daily routine prompts me to examine that blip from all sides to see if I can milk it for some kind of Ricochet post.
I just like to write. Politics would seem to be a natural topic to write about for a site filled with passionate conservatives, but I just can’t bear to write about politics. I love to read about politics on Ricochet, especially those posts that expose the foolish and sometimes anti-American decisions that have marked Biden’s tenure thus far. I enjoy seeing fools get their comeuppance, especially those on the Left. But writing about hardcore politics is just not my jam.
So I end up writing about, oh, say, mushrooms. Here are some I found this morning in our flower beds. We’re very good at growing mushrooms and other fungi here in Oregon.
As I stared down at these newly-emerged mushrooms, they looked as though they were elbowing one another aside, dooming the less aggressive mushrooms to a stunted life — or no life at all. Life in all its forms — from the lowly amoeba, to my front yard mushrooms, to mankind itself — is desperate to live.
Bob the dog, our good boy, is six years old today. During our daily walk, we stopped in Starbucks for a free puppuccino. It’s no more than a cup full of whipped cream, but Bob loves him some puppuccinos.
I wanted to get a cute shot of Bob with his snout covered in whipped cream, but I had neither the patience nor the skill to get the shot I envisioned. So I’m left with this shot of Bob wearing his winter outfit, his birthday party hat perched atop his head. Bob may be looking a bit uncertain about all of this, but I like to think that Bob is dissembling — and that he actually loves to dress up and party. So get drunk on puppuccinos and party on, Bob!
Well, that’s about as much as I can milk out of Bob’s birthday.
I’m posting a few photos of some autumn leaves that Marie and I encountered this morning on our walk around the neighborhood. So now you don’t have to throw your kids in the car and drive up to Maine to peep at the fall foliage. That’s Marie below keeping track of Bob’s poop so that she can tell me, when I catch up, where the poop is located so that I can scoop up the poop with my plastic poop bag. (I enjoy a good scatological sentence, don’t you?)
And here are more leaves.
Finally, here’s a quilt by Marie that will greet our trick-or-treaters come Halloween. Yes, it’s a “murder” of crows. (I’ve been waiting for a good part of my life to use that curious word for a “group” of crows.)
OK, those are my thoughts for this day. I’m sorry they’re not deeper, but one has to work with what one has. Read Arahant, Mrs. She, Bastiat, Quinn, or many others on Ricochet if you need some depth with your reading.
Though nature is dying all about us, I still wish you a happy autumn. Halloween is coming, dear Ricocheters. On that day, the calories in Snickers bars and in pumpkin-flavored white Russian cocktails don’t count. So party on.Published in