Monday, August 31, 2015


The second word I have chosen from Consolations, by David Whyte: "anger."
 What is anger?

What we have named as anger on the surface is the violent outer response to our own inner powerlessness, a powerlessness connected to such a profound sense of rawness and care that it can find no proper outer body or identity or voice, or way of life to hold it. 

This, too, I understand. Indignation, wrath, and the other permutations of anger in ascending degrees are so often wrought by something (or someone) that we are powerless to change.  We cannot control other people, and we cannot control circumstances; we are subject not only to the ebb and flow of life caused by the individuals and the populations around us, but also to the mysteries of Nature herself. What can we do in the face of such powerlessness?

[A]nger truly felts at its center is the essential living flame of being fully alive and fully here; it is a quality to be followed to its source, to be prized, to be tended, and an invitation to finding a way to bring that source fully into the world through making the mind clearer and more generous, the heart more compassionate and the body larger and strong enough to hold it.

This is another tremendous undertaking: can we find the flaming root of our anger and embrace it so that it no longer burns us, but rather fires us like clay in the kiln? 

Imagine how we will be transformed then.

Picture copyright 2015, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Sunday, August 30, 2015


The first word I have chosen from Consolations, by David Whyte: "unrequited." "Unrequited" is an unusual and unanticipated word, not at all what one would expect within a book of consolations. Yet its discussion is, in fact, consoling.

I have long thought that all love is unrequited.  In fact, in the book I am writing -- which I will likely never finish, for it does not have a happy ending and may thus be too sad to complete -- has a paragraph on this very topic. The question I have had is as follows: given that certainly people love, to the very best and utmost of their ability -- why does love so often have unrequited undertones? Consolations has provided the answer in the form of its own questions:

Every man or woman loves differently and uniquely and each of us holds different dreams and hopes and falls in love or is the object of love at a very specific threshold in a very particular life where very, very particular qualities are needed for the next few years of our existence.  What other human being could ever love us as we need to be loved?  And whom could we know so well and so intimately through all the twists and turns of a given life that we could show them exactly, the continuous and appropriate form of affection they need? 

Ah. That, I understand.

Yet, rather than despair in the face of unrequited love, we are instead called to love further:

We seem to have been born into a world where love, except for brilliant, exceptional moments, seems to exist from one side only, ours - and that may be the difficulty and the revelation and the gift - to see love as the ultimate letting go and through the doorway of that affection, make the most difficult sacrifice of all, giving away the very thing we want to hold forever.

This is a tremendous undertaking. Can we heed the call?

Picture copyright 2015, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Saturday, August 29, 2015

Play ball

Herself's thoughts on the football game. Herself speaks. 

Offspring the Third has joined the high school marching band. He's brushing up on his music-reading abilities and acquiring some new skills in playing music within a group; he's applying himself with enthusiasm to a time-consuming activity; and he's found a peer group that has embraced him wholeheartedly. For a person like Offspring the Third, who is very people-oriented, having a Tribe is tremendous. So delighted for him.

Last night was the first high school football game that I ever attended. (Yes, ever. My high school had no football team, and neither Offspring the First nor Offspring the Second ever participated in football or marching band-related activities.) It was a nearly sold out crowd in the 6,000-seat stadium. The crowd was a diverse bunch -- from babies in their bucket carseats, to toddlers, to middle schoolers playfully shoving one another, to high school students dressed in togas (there was a toga theme to the game, for some mysterious reason), to Texas football moms with their high heels and high hair and sparkly earrings, to beefy dads who would stand up and yell their opinions at the coaches and referees. 

Down on the field, there were the marching bands, the football players, cheerleaders, flag girls, mascots, a baton-twirling trio, coaches, people bearing containers of sports beverages, individuals bearing school flags who would run a lap whenever a touchdown was scored, and various other individuals of uncertain status standing around. 

It was like a very carefully orchestrated anthropological spectacle, in which the pubescent members of the tribe attempted to demonstrate their superiority over the competing tribe in front of tribal elders. It was Loud, and Crowded, and full of Unfamiliar People. It lasted hours.

It was unpleasant.

I may have to volunteer for 'band boosters' -- if I had something to do besides sit amongst shouting strangers, watching a game in which I have very little interest, it would be much better. I'd much rather be busy helping behind the scenes than spectating. If I'm helping, I belong. If I'm just watching, I'm naught but a stranger in a strange land. 

Friday, August 28, 2015


I am reading Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment, and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words, by David Whyte. Although the title itself is a wee bit... wordy, the work is an excellent collection of brief essays on particular words. The prose is reminiscent of John O'Donohue's Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom (an especially lovely work, close to my heart, as you well know from my mentionings of it here) -- in fact, I selected Consolations because suggested it when I recently purchased several other books by John O'Donohue. Well done, Amazon.

I have decided that rather than read straight through from beginning to end, I'll select the words individually each evening when I read before bedtime. In due course I shall bring my thoughts on those words here as well.

What a wonderful book.

Thursday, August 27, 2015


Sunrise is the time to feel that you will be able to find out how to help somebody close to you who you think needs help even if he doesn't think. At sunrise everything is luminous but not clear. ― Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

See You Again

Today's earworm: See You Again, by Carrie Underwood. It seems fitting, given that so many of my important people far away. I hope you enjoy.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015


News matters with adult subject matter today.  You have been warned!

Herself speaks.

A thousand years ago when I was in my last year of graduate school, there was a certain subset of the student population that consisted of somewhat older individuals. In comparison to the fresh-out-of-college bunch, this group had been in the workforce or in the military for several years before starting graduate school; many of them, like others their age, had spouses. Some of the spouses had been left behind in home towns temporarily while the students relocated and began class. I was a newlywed, and after having endured over three years in the long distance relationship with Beloved To-Be-Husband before the wedding, I always felt empathy for those separated spouses.

In addition to those married individuals, there were occasionally blossoming romances between students. I remember watching flirtations between one of Beloved Husband's male friends -- a tall and funny man -- and a comely, bright woman in class. It was well known that they had 'a thing' together.

Then, I met the man's wife.

She'd finally been able to move and join him. I looked at her auburn hair and Irish complexion, and thought about the raven curls of the woman I now knew to be The Other Woman. The Wife seemed so cheerful, so pleased to be there, so -- naive? Innocent?  When Wife and I chatted at a gathering one night, she learned I was a newlywed, and she told me how many years she and her husband had been married. She then looked down at her wedding ring and said proudly, "I've never once taken it off in all that time."

My heart broke for her.

Graduation came soon thereafter, and I never saw what became of the man, his Wife, or The Other Woman.

I still think of the Wife on occasion when I look at my own wedding ring, which I have never once taken off in these past twenty-four years.

This was all in the pre-internet era. Now in this computer era, we have the current news spectacle of the Ashley Madison data hack, through which thirty-nine million individuals have been revealed as having paid money to join a website catering to individuals who are looking for extramarital relationships. (Tagline: "Life is short. Have an affair.") Hundreds and hundreds of thousands of adulterers or would-be-adulterers, exposed. There's a lot of amusement, horror, and shadenfreude bouncing around the world wide web as a result.

(As a side note: I find the hack itself reprehensible. That degree of pilfering and releasing of personal information is a tremendous crime. Yes, the individuals whose information was released may be morally questionable (or bankrupt).  All the same, two wrongs don't make a right.)

There are so many reasons why individuals have affairs. Danger and excitement; vanity, insecurity, spite; callous self-absorption; loneliness, despair, unmet needs; boredom; validation, desperation, consolation; broken-hearted searching for some better version of 'love.' Motives likely tend to be different for men and for women; as we all know, men and women often attach different significance to physical encounters. The various reasons for each individual affair may be difficult to parse. People are complex, and sometimes people are broken. And sometimes people are just plain bad.

Nevertheless: a promise is a promise. When I stood in the church that sweaty August morning, I promised to have and to hold, from that day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. I placed on Beloved Husband's finger a ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. I meant every word. At what point do the users of Ashley Madison come to the conclusion that the similar vows they exchanged with their spouses are no longer valid or worth upholding? How do they step over the edge of fidelity? It seems to me to be a precipice. Surely that step would kill one -- and yet, it does not. Infidelity happens, every single day, and life goes on.

(A second side note: there may be the rarest of circumstances under which I would not consider an "affair" to be morally wrong.  Consider the case of Terri Schiavo. Her husband faithfully worked for years to release her from a vegetative state caused by a medical crisis; after his wife was already in a nursing home because of her condition, he met a woman with whom he developed a relationship and had children, and whom he eventually married after Terri's death. I cannot fault him for seeking love and support and new life as he did. I wish them well.)

My heart bleeds for the individual unexpectedly holding that broken marital string. This is the part of the Ashley Madison disclosure that pains me the most:  the spouse on the other end of the infidelity. Each one in my mind like that freckled Irish beauty Wife in graduate school.

I wonder how many of them were caught by surprise to discover their spouses on the list of subscribers. Likely a few had suspicions; more likely, though, many had had not an inkling. Now, though, here they are exposed to the world as a wronged spouse. There's no hiding from the cold harsh internet. People will judge. And there will be people who will fault the wronged spouse: "What did you do to drive him away?" Yes, marriages sometimes mutually disintegrate. But other times, one party steps out despite the very best efforts of the other.

I am thinking in particular of Anna Duggar - a young woman raised in the very conservative and patriarchal Quiverfull culture. She has been taught (likely by her family, as well as certainly by her husband's parents) never to refuse the sexual advances of her husband. Her mother-in-law advises: "Be available. Anyone can fix him lunch, but only one person can meet that physical need of love that he has....You always need to be available when he calls." As the mother of four children within seven years, it's likely Anna is doing her best to take that advice to heart.

Is Anna doubting herself right now? Who else -- besides her own heart -- is asking her: "Did you not do enough as a wife to keep your husband from straying?" How is she managing, having learned that the man who should be the Biblical, patriarchical authority under which she lives, has broken covenants to her and to their God in such a manner? What can she do but watch while his failings are paraded before the world, and wonder how she can continue to love a man who has betrayed her in this way? Besides wonder what she did wrong. And weep.

God bless her and give her strength. Where does her path lie now? No one knows. I hope she will find it, for her and her children.

Now, I'm not advocating that she should have continued in ignorance of her husband's infidelities. Knowledge -- even the extraordinarily painful kind -- is power, and drives us forward. Perhaps Anna will find new grace in the future. I hope so. In the end, though, some pains are best suffered privately (and with one's close loved ones, if one so chooses). Perhaps the "Impact Team" behind the Ashley Madison hack should have considered how they would be adding to the pain of the betrayed spouses. I don't think they did.

So many broken hearts. And so many heartbreakers.

This is a failure both of human individuals, and humanity collectively.

Let us do better, People of the world.

Picture copyright 2015, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude

Monday, August 24, 2015


Late last week, Offspring the Second carefully packed up his belongings, and over the weekend, Beloved Husband delivered him back to school, 575 miles away.

The house was extraordinarily quiet over the weekend.  Even though Offspring the Second is ninja-like in his crepuscular movements, his presence was still tangible throughout the summer -- just as his absence now is. Best of luck, Offspring the Second. We are thinking of you, our bright young man, and miss you and your wit and your intelligent, thoughtful conversation already. 

Offspring the Third, involved in his own preparations for back-to-school, also spent a fair amount of time out with his friends this weekend. He's a marvelous social butterfly. Herself is in awe -- she cannot even imagine the mental energy it takes to juggle such a large, divergent group of peers as friends.  Yet he handles it with aplomb. Bravo.

Herself tried different tactics each day of the weekend to combat the sense of change that enveloped the household. On Saturday, she did not actively do much; she had her hair done, and made herself something interesting for lunch. She tackled a few chores that had waited until Offspring the Second moved his possessions: a little vacuuming, a little rearranging of a few things. And that was all for Saturday. 

Yet the taking of the day off from significant activity seemed to increase, rather than decrease, the forlornness of the situation -- and so on Sunday, she threw herself into activity. She went to the store early. She cleaned out the fridge and contemplated this week's menus. She scrubbed all of the bathrooms, and replaced not only the shower curtains, but also the toilet seats. She organized multiple cabinets in the bathrooms and in the kitchen, discarding any expired items and rearranging things to be more practical.  She handled multiple loads of laundry. She cleaned a questionable spot on the carpet and vacuumed everything. 

Activity didn't dispel the heartache, either, though: for as soon as she stopped working, it was there, waiting. 


This morning, Offspring the Third was up an hour and forty minutes before they needed to leave the house ("just practicing getting up early" -- probably wise, given that he will need to be at school at the crack of dawn for band practice, beginning tomorrow). Off he went, surprisingly full of excitement for the year to come. Good for him.

And thus, the new routine begins.  

Change is hard. 

Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like. ― Lao Tzu

I'm trying. 

Picture copyright 2015, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude

Sunday, August 23, 2015

This Longing

This longing, too large for heaven and earth, fits easily into my heart.  - Rumi

Picture copyright 2015, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Saturday, August 22, 2015


Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don't they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers. 
Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

Taken at the Rio Grande Nature Center State Park.
Picture copyright 2015, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Friday, August 21, 2015


I am reading Echoes of Memory, by John O'Donohue.  His poetry is much like his prose: it speaks from, and to, the heart.


all the words
spilled out
in seas
from the clay wells
of human sound,
and the air
with bird calligraphy
every earth pore
calm with dusk,

still you
would rise,
like a new moon,

Picture copyright 2014, 2015, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Thursday, August 20, 2015


Herself speaks.

Today's entry is an offshoot of yesterday's ruminations on what it means to be Alone. The issues herein are different from those of yesterday, and were not raised by my lovely friend who first provided the kernel of "Alone." Nevertheless, this is a companion contemplation, as it relates to "The One" -- the mythical One who will banish Alone-ness.

Sometimes, we seek to find our own value outside ourselves: if I make that much money, if I receive that award, then I will clearly be successful. Or if I have that house, that car, that job. Or, most of all, if I have that One.  We all know the paragon of the One from books and movies and television:  the person who cares for us, who would do anything for us, who arrives in our darkest moments to save us, making us feel valuable and treasured and loved. The thought is this (either directly, or subconsciously):

If -- and only if -- I have such a One, do I have any worth.

Here is what I wish for you to know:

There is no One. Your value depends on no One, and on no Others. 

The presence (or absence) of Others -- a friend, a lover, a spouse, an anam cara -- in one's life, is not determinative of one's worth.

Even when there are such Others, there will be times when you are tremendously aware that you are very much Alone. Each Other, like you, inhabits a unique world that revolves around that person alone. Your Others may not recognize when you are pining, or may not realize that you need succor, laughter, help. Your Others may not understand why that news article burns your heart or why a particular memory occasionally surfaces, painfully, in your soul. Your fears may make no sense to Others. Your desires may make even less sense. Others may sometimes be spiteful or selfish. Self-centered. Unkind. Even occasionally cruel. For they are human, just as you are, and they are imperfect.

You must remember: even without Others, you are magnificent. You have the power to explore, to create, to forgive. To be kind. And to love.

You can love your Others, even when they have made you aware of your Alone-ness. You can provide for Others, even when they do not provide for you. And you can -- and must -- love and provide for yourself. Your soul is deserving. Treat it so.

You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection. - Unknown

You are worthy, purely because you are you. You are a mystery and a joy. You are no One -- you are your own One. 

And in all your imperfect glory, you are Enough

Found here

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Be Your Own Tree

Herself speaks.

I correspond with a lovely, smart, warm-hearted woman with whom I attended high school.  We had lost touch over the years, but thanks to the miracles of social media, have now reconnected. I am glad. We write about serious matters, and lighthearted matters, and things in between, too.

This lovely woman wrote briefly to me recently about what she termed her worst fear -- to "end up alone."  Oh, my friend. What can I say to ease your fear?

Let's talk about being Alone.

What does Alone truly mean? Who is Alone? If one has friends, is one Alone? What about a spouse? Children? Coworkers, or co-volunteers? Fellow churchgoers, book club members, neighbors with whom one chats while out walking the dog? What if you have all of these Others? And what if there are none of these Others?

This is what I believe:  regardless of how many Others with whom we surround ourselves, we are, nevertheless, each and every one:  all Alone.

We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and—in spite of True Romance magazines—we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely—at least, not all the time—but essentially, and finally, alone. ― Hunter S. Thompson,

Even a spouse -- often held up by our society as the be-all-and-end-all of relationship goals -- does not change the fact that each half of a married couple is in fact a single, solitary person.  And it is best that way.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

- Kahlil Gibran, "On Marriage," from The Prophet

I say again:

We are all Alone.

This is a wondrous thing, indeed.  

We cannot fear what already is

Knowing that Alone is the perennial state of each an every human being, we can give up the search for The One who will banish Alone-ness for us, for such another does not exist. What we can do instead is to reach out and find those with whom we are comfortable and in whom we find comfort. Those with whom we can laugh, and cry, and just Sit And Be. Those from whom we are apart, and yet with whom we can be Together.

Blessed are we when we find such Others -- a friend, a lover, a spouse, an anam cara, whose Alone-ness intersects with ours. Through them, our journey on this small blue planet is brighter. And in our solitude, the memories, thoughts, and companionship of such Others can carry us through as we move on the path, Alone and together.  

I do not know if this is at all a comfort.  Know, though, my friend, that I am here, and Alone, together with you.

Tuesday, August 18, 2015


This  most magnificent photograph was taken at the Albuquerque BioPark:  butterflies snacking on bananas. How I wish I had the ability to capture the complexity and beauty of nature like this. Lucky are we to have such pictures. It is like having a second -- and far more observant -- set of eyes to see the world. 

Picture copyright 2015, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Monday, August 17, 2015

Half a Lifetime

Herself and Beloved Husband were married twenty-four years ago today.

Happy anniversary.

Pat Benetar - We Belong.

Sunday, August 16, 2015

Horse of the River

The wee hippopotamus followed its mother around, and lay down in the shadow she cast. When she moved, the baby would shuffle itself forward to stay in her shade. The young hippo reminded me a bit of ottoman-shaped dog, who would move just a bit at a time to ensure he stayed just so near Herself. He was her shadow; or perhaps, he felt best when he was in her shadow.  

It has been nearly two years since Thorbert crossed the bridge. We have grown accustomed to his absence and our grief is no longer raw. He remains in our hearts, though, and we remember him especially when we see his echoes in other creatures. 

Thank you for sparking the memory, wee hippo.

Picture copyright 2015, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Saturday, August 15, 2015


On some days, the roots seem far deeper than the branches are high.

Sadness gives depth. Happiness gives height. Sadness gives roots. Happiness gives branches. Happiness is like a tree going into the sky, and sadness is like the roots going down into the womb of the earth. Both are needed, and the higher a tree goes, the deeper it goes, simultaneously. The bigger the tree, the bigger will be its roots. In fact, it is always in proportion. That's its balance. - Osho

Friday, August 14, 2015


It's been almost a year since venerable cavy parted for The Great Beyond.  That is long enough to be rodent-less.

Meet Rocky.  He appears to be quite a young dwarf hamster.  We obtained him through Craigslist, from a young lady who needed to rehome him.  He's quite lively, and seems to thoroughly enjoy tunneling through the bedding in his habitat, poking his head up, and then diving back under to tunnel some more.  He practically swims through the bedding.

We hope he fares well.  Welcome, Rocky.

Thursday, August 13, 2015

A Different Crazy

As loathsome as we find Fifty Shades of Grey, we must admit that there's a little bit of... something to one of the songs from the soundtrack.  Here you go: the new rendition of Crazy in Love. Tell me what you think of the song itself, apart from the movie. I confess that I enjoy this version much more than Beyonce's version.

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

Iris For You

Ah, to be able to speak in the language of flowers, where a single bloom can convey so much. 

The iris (Iris xiphium) symbolizes hope, cherished friendship and valor. The meanings of the iris have come to include faith, hope, and wisdom.... They may also express courage and admiration.

And so, here is an iris, for you.

This lovely iris was found here

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

For An Exile

By John O'Donohue.
When you dream, it is always home.
You are there among your own,
The rhythm of their voices rising like song
Your blood would sing through any dark.

Then you awake to find yourself listening
To the sounds of the traffic in another land.
For a moment your whole body recoils
At the strange emptiness of where you are.

This country is cold to your voice.
It is still a place without echoes.
Nothing of yours has happened here.

No one knows you,
The language slows you,
The thick accent smothers your presence.

You sound foreign to yourself;
Their eyes reflect how strange you seem
When seen across a cold distance
That has no bridge to carry
The charisma in which your friends
Delight at home.

Though your work here is hard,
It brings relief, helps your mind
In returning to the small
Bounties of your absence.

Evening is without protection;
Your room waits,
Ready to take you
Back like some convict
Who is afraid
Of the life outside.

The things you brought from home
Look back at you; out of place here
They take on a lonely power.

You cringe at the thought
That someone from home
Might see you now here,
In this unsheltered room.

Now is the time to hold faithful
To your dream, to understand
That this is an interim time
Full of awkward disconnection.

Gradually you will come to find
Your way to friends who will open
Doors into a new belonging.

Your heart will brighten
With new discovery,
Your presence will unclench
And find ease,
Letting your substance
And promise be seen.

Slowly a new world will open for you.
The eyes of your heart, refined
By this desert time, will be free
To see and celebrate the new life
For which you sacrificed everything.

Picture copyright 2015, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Monday, August 10, 2015

They Might Have A Few Toys

We washed all the canine accoutrements. After the blankets were folded, the slew of toys still occupied a substantial space in the dryer.  It's only a matter of time until they are strewn about the house once more.

It's a good life for small dogs.

Sunday, August 9, 2015


Postmodern Jukebox. Go listen. And listen.

Especially this: My Heart Will Go On. I will listen to this one all day, and my heart will go on.

Saturday, August 8, 2015


Herself turns 48 today.

Picture copyright 2015, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Friday, August 7, 2015


Found on the interwebs.  

Thursday, August 6, 2015

Sweet Darkness

When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.

When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.

Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.

There you can be sure
you are not beyond love.

The dark will be your womb

The night will give you a horizon
further than you can see.

You must learn one thing.
The world was made to be free in.

Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn

anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive

is too small for you.

-- David Whyte

Picture copyright 2015, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Large Mushroom, Tiny Dog

The fungal presence in the yard is proliferating prodigiously.

The mushrooms look quite thoughtful at night.

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

The Dragonfly

Today I saw the dragon-fly
Come from the wells where he did lie.
An inner impulse rent the veil
Of his old husk: from head to tail
Came out clear plates of sapphire mail.
He dried his wings: like gauze they grew;
Thro' crofts and pastures wet with dew
A living flash of light he flew.

-- Alfred Lord Tennyson

Picture copyright 2015, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Monday, August 3, 2015

Don't Send That

Note: slightly adult subject matter today. You have been warned!

Herself was catching up with her Facebook lady friends (they were quite chatty in the small private group over the weekend). Such a funny and enjoyable group of ladies, they are.  They were joking about the following picture:


Some of the ladies related stories of how they had been the recipients of a 'dick pic' or two in the past. Herself noted that she has never received a dick pic. (For which, I feel compelled to add, she is quite grateful.)  And one of her favorite lady friends replied with a picture especially for her - "Here's a Dick pic for you...":

I'd rather see a stranger's naked penis than you, Mr. Cheney. Sorry.

HA HA HA HA HA. Oh, dear.


Sunday, August 2, 2015

A Short Trip Northward

Herself went to visit Cherished Friend this weekend. It is always Very Good Indeed to see him.

Friendship is a tree to take shelter from the storm, to find shade from the blazing sun, to climb its bratches to get a better view, and to swing from when we're happy. - Sir David Baird

Picture copyright 2015, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.