When nature calls, it’s nice to be rewarded for answering.

This can take the form of a beautiful landscape if outside or, if inside, a bathroom that proves itself worthy.

This one fit the bill.

Located in a library, it was immaculate, a time capsule mostly undisturbed since its creation in 1935. Apparently it was designed by architect Chester Lindsay Churchill. Nice job Chester!

Restroom, Mary Baker Eddy Library

Mary Baker Eddy Library women’s restroom

earbuds are everywhere

ear bud, earbud, either way, we are and shall henceforth be wearing one or two/until the next eary thing comes along

So, what started as a way to reduce the amount of aluminum gly deposited with indifferent swipes in the underarm area to ward off smells has evolved into a commitment to make every weekend a deo-free weekend.

In other words, every Saturday and Sunday bring on the smell. That musky, visceral, darkly primitive emanence from those underarm depressions fondly known as pits.

Woe to the uninitiated who cross my path unaware that there is something in the air, something…different.

To be fair, the need to clear the weekend air has been surprisingly unnecessary, as the actual odor is minimal.

In fact, now that I think about it, my pits have reeked more when under the protection of a so-called deodorant.

Something definitely stinks.

What did you say?

 

When you walk the walk and you talk the talk, you’re doing walk therapy. Talking to yourself while walking, verbalizing, clarifying, reaching conclusions and unearthing insights that help you see more clearly.

 

This is how I spend my mornings. I walk about 20 minutes to work, and during this otherwise free time, I find myself conversing. With myself. About the difficult or complicated or persistent. And not surprisingly, profound evaluations, analysis and answers present themselves to me.

 

It was while on one such walk that I discovered the real reasons for a number of things that I hadn’t been able to fathom while in different environments. These are personal things, so I’m not going to share them here. But trust me, I really did uncover the key during my walk sessions.

 

So, have you tried it? Walk therapy is surprisingly affordable. Unless, like me, you have a weakness for incredibly good-looking, painfully uncomfortable boots.

I

dont

dance

but maybe the rain is really to blame

because whenever you smile

I smile

and whenever i fall at your feet

there’s

no

going

back

The sun was so high my skin was hurting, worried, tired and alone
[In the heat of the day witcher, wrinkles are where smiles have been.]
Never let me go. Never back down.
I won’t forget your kissing. [Remember that it’s all in your head.]
Practical magic.
When trapped in lacunae osteoblasts change, endings are beginnings.
Skincraft –
Crushed velvet band. Clean eating. Lost girl. Dead seal found in ashford.
 
The sun was out til midnight.

So here’s what we know so far:

State environmental officials are investigating after someone left a dead seal on Evergreen Street in P___.

A sign attached to the seal’s right flipper read: Will work for food.

The young harp seal was reported missing from an unidentified beach, where it was said to have died.

After police were called, several patrol cars, animal control and news trucks converged on the relatively quiet street. The apparently dead seal was in the street, next to the curb in front of 19 Evergreen.

Was this in fact the same dead seal spotted on an unidentified beach?

According to local media, it is a federal crime to move a marine mammal unless you have specific clearance to do so.

THE REAL STORY

While the seal appeared to be dead, it was, in fact, sleeping. This seal, whose name was Gil, was unemployed and homeless. He figured this would be the end of the road for him. He’d added the sign as an ironic gesture; he’d paid his dues, spent four years at college and worked his hind flipper off, and for what?

This wasn’t the first time he’d slept in the street. But it was the first time he’d attracted so much attention.

Gil was not a happy camper.

So when the aquarium truck arrived along with the seemingly endless line of media trucks, Gil was hopeful. And when the aquarist picked him up gently and didn’t just chuck him in the back of the van like a bale of hay, he was delirious. Granted, they put him in a huge plastic bag and clamped it shut with one of those heavy plastic tag things, but so what. Gil poked a small hole in the bag so he could breathe. He relished the privacy and relative warmth. With any luck, no one would notice the hexagonal marking on his left fin.