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A skunk can have nine lives, if it’s so inclined

Your cat.


Not your cat.


3 miles today. And yesterday. And the day before.


Cats singing in the rain

One of the pleasures of moving from one town to another is transporting a gaggle of cats 45 miles. Two blocked my view and one tried to help drive. The old man of the crew, Chris, just sat and gave direction.


They’ve adjusted nicely except for a noticeable increase in neediness. And unfortunately, they quickly located which window is the bedroom window from the outside.

Last night, in what was surely a gentle rainfall, they stood post and sung the song of their people until I let them in.

3 miles. Early start.

Welcome back

Meanwhile, a few pounds later, I finally got out for a jog. That was today. I’m not counting my five mile attempt a few days ago. That’s because I had chosen the hottest day ever to carry my carcass around the blueberry loop. It took a long, long time.

3 miles today in cooler weather. It felt good. Goal is to slowly get back into shape and stay injury free. If I attain those two things, I should be able to lose the amazing amount of weight I have collected. I should be hibernating.

Lisa & I moved to Machias. The commute is, oh, an hour less – which makes the drive, oh, about 5 minutes. Amazing the amount of stuff I can get done.

And in closing, here is a photo of Whitey Bulger and a rock that’s shaped like a foot.


A fail snail tale


As much as we admire the rural white-good-as-porch-ornament motif, Lisa and I lugged the above appliance to the curb for trash pickup. In doing, I was reminded of the great mollusk Patella mexicana, a true limpet.

Which is what I had after I bruised my kneecap on the dishwasher.

Friday 2.25 miles. Mending.

Stopping the Hands of Brine


After Saturday’s roast, I pared the shell on Monday to prevent a repeat broil. Parka removal did the trick – except for my hands.

This morning, the armored mittens were replaced with thin gloves.

Spring in Winter’s Clothing

For some it’s a skunk. Others, the sting of tire thrown grit. Or maybe matted cover from a long forgotten mow.

For me it’s the steam cooker hidden beneath my shirt.

Overdressed. 4 miles.


Another dry run. The wind still blowing bringing the chill down to 17 degrees.

Same route with an added portion to make 3. Feeling ok for starting out again. I am looking forward to some early sunrises. Now that I just typed that, I realize Sunday’s spring forward rather delays that prospect.