The secret email arrived late at night with the Porky Pig insignia.
SUBJECT LINE: “What can one person do to make a difference?”
Like those old-school raves of the 1990s, we were informed where to go, but the note ended. “Psssst … now you know the location, so guard the secret.”
Anyone have a good line on a yard pump? I’m looking for something that surely doesn’t exist, sort of like a reverse sprinkler. I want a device that sucks the water back off my lawn, into some pipes, then sends it along its merry way wherever water goes when it’s not welcome — the Southwest maybe.
I know it’s sacrilegious to moan about excess water during these days of extreme global climate change. But that’s sort of my point; any excess of any kind points to what scientists have proven long ago, we’re screwing around too much with Mother Earth.
January is the wicked step-mother of months. Contradictory and contemptuous, January is sun, rain and snow, all in a half-hour’s time. It’s slushy toboggan runs and black ice on I-75. January is your passive aggressive co-worker who smiles in your face then shoves daggers of ice in your back. It’s not surprising, since the month is named after a two-faced Roman god.