Which Way’s Up?

Furnace Yoga and the Year of “Yes.”

I smell like a goat. Or maybe smelling like a goat would be an upgrade. I smell more like a goat if it was eaten by a horse and then shit out days later, spread across a pig pasture, rolled in for weeks, and then deposited on the floor of a barn during a heatwave. 

A Recipe for Memories

For me, it is not the food but the hug that I will miss the most. Walt towered over me so when greeted, it was enveloping, instantly muffling my ears so that I could barely hear him ask, “How have you been?” I’ve been alright, Chef, but I sure wish I’d had a chance to…

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