Gravy

This summer I have only visited four chip trucks. Four. That shows outstanding self-control. There are few things in life I love more than french fries from a chip truck, except long car ride adventures to find them.

Dialect

Apparently I’m late to the gate on relationship terminology, but I recently heard someone refer to their “love language” as the reason they had to end a budding romantic partnership.  Seems they didn’t speak the same love language. It’s a thing. Huh.

50 ways

Remember when Paul Simon sang about “50 ways to leave your lover,” but only named five and none of them were actually solid ways to leave your lover? Slip out the back, Jack. Make a new plan, Stan. (If you don’t know this song, your parents have failed you). You’re singing it right now, aren’t you?

Olympics

I’m not an athlete and I have never been an athlete – and newsflash: I am never going to be an athlete. Shocking, I know, but best I be honest about my non-athletic aspirations as I congratulate our Olympic and Paralympic athletes for what I consider to be super-human feats.

Sacred space

Sometimes you just need someone to listen, to witness whatever cloud is hovering over your head and help you clear it out. Not solve or fix, or repair. Just listen. Bear witness. Then allow you to return the favour. The strongest friendships are rooted in trust.

Mugged

I woke up early on Saturday, though admittedly not as early as the Carpenter. He needs to greet the sun. I need to slowly slip into the day. But I love that he leaves me freshly brewed coffee.

Haircut

I always wanted an Old English Sheepdog because Paul McCartney had one named Martha. It doesn’t get any cooler than being Paul McCartney’s dog, I surmised, except to have a dog just like it.