Marching After All

Goodness, it was a close call, but at the 11th hour I did this ...

I will be able to march, if briefly, in the 2020 Mummers Parade!

Mr. J was in the hospital for two days, and I thought I might have to scratch the parade from my dance card. But they discharged him, so I'll be able to join the club in Philly and do the competition and the Broad Street portion of the event. All is well!

If you want to watch my portion of the parade, it will be on from 10:00 until 1:00 - ish, live streamed on PHL 17 dot com. I can't give more precise coordinates for when the Two Street Stompers will perform.

Apologies for not being a better correspondent this year. To be perfectly honest, I feel like my writing skills have eroded. It's a consequence of career change, the political climate, and possibly just age. Nothing seems to be a laughing matter anymore.

But pish tosh! A new decade dawns, the next Roaring Twenties, and it's time to dust off the flapper gowns and elect a boring president!

If there's any topic you'd like me to tackle in 2020, fling it in a comment. Maybe what I need is inspiration. Or to live a somewhat interesting life ... which I mostly don't.

Thank you again, sweet readers, for helping get books and supplies for my students. May all the Gods and Goddesses of multiple pantheons both known and unknown bless you and keep you, and make Their light shine upon you.

I got to meet this Thunderbird in 2019. That will be hard to top.

Sweet, Sweet Lil BUB

I'm having trouble with this site being linked to some raunchy websites, but what can I do? I have no idea how the Internet works. Over the years I've written less about sex than any other topic, but I guess there are people out there who really do want to hook up with deities. More power to those people. They are not me.

I'm just going to put my two cents in about the death last week of Lil BUB. If you are a cat-lover like me, you no doubt wept, like me, when you saw on Facebook or Instagram that she passed in her sleep after a battle with bone infection. She was eight years old, which to me is phenomenal, considering how wacky she looked.

Maybe in ordinary circumstances I would have been mildly amused by BUB. But over the last three years I have sought her out often as an antidote to the times we live in. I know her owner made bank on her, and I don't fault him for a second. She raised lots of money for homeless pets. And she was so cute. You'll never see her in pessimistic memes like Grumpy Cat. She'll always be a special lil waif, destined for an early departure from this vale of tears until a kind man took her in.

I don't know about you, but I felt like lil BUB was my cat-away-from-home. I have followed her on every platform, although I never went out of my way to meet her. She seemed to have a cheerful personality ... and those videos of her slurping her food ... (her teeth never came in) ... well, has there ever been any feline content more adorable?

BUB got an obituary in the New York Times, that venerable publication that I read every Sunday. Glad to know that she was important enough that her passing was duly noted. I will miss the new photos of her but always look at the archives. As for purchasing BUB merchandise, I already have it. The Heir gave me a BUB calendar last year for Yule. I have literally looked at BUB every day this year.

So, lil BUB, what a cat you were! Trundle off now to the Summer Lands, and say hello to my Alpha. And my Beta. And Ozzie. And Dusty. And all my foster kittens who didn't make it. You made Trump World slightly more bearable. No mean feat.