I spent a good part of last week getting things ready for our weekend Christmas guests. Shoveling out the house, getting some fresh air in to replace the winter staleness, and assorted other bits including, but not restricted to, jumping headlong into the vicious, evil, closed loop of dusting.
I still managed to get some editing done as I got up well before six a.m. at least twice. My days go better when I arise early and face the day while it is still young and trusting. I even got a bit of reading done here and there.
My MIL insisted recently that I read a particular book and made sure of it by coming to the door with a copy of it. It's interesting although the type is very small and there's plenty of info packed into each sentence. That's great from a reading perspective, but lousy from a 51-year-old set of eyes perspective.
Here's a bit from the preface of Earth In Upheaval copyright 1955 by Immanuel Velikovsky (Dell, 1968)
"The pages of this book are transcripts of the testimony of mute witnesses, the rocks, in the court of celestial traffic. They testify by their own appearance and by the encased contents of dead bodies, fossilized skeletons."
And from me, a little bit from A Fly on the Wall:
" 'We're looking for a physical problem. Maybe it's not a flaw in the wafer or an error in the calculation. Maybe it's time itself.'
'Help me out, Dr. Phelbos. Why would time cause a malfunction?' "
Thanks for coming by. I appreciate the attention.
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How We Spoil Our Cats, December 2017 Edition
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