Tsundoku
Japanese word for the tendency to buy books and not read them.
h/t to Japan Powered.
Sunday’s Wandering Thought
After knowing one another for fifty-one years, including forty-five years of marriage, they remain a couple separated by a common language, even though they’re both American.
Thursday’s Wandering Thought
He came in from wading in the ocean in the Pacific northwest and told his wife, “The water wasn’t cold.”
She looked surprised. “It wasn’t?”
“No.” He smiled. “It was FUCKING FREEZING.”
Monday’s Wandering Thought
He read the news article about a man stealing from people during an overnight flight. One woman had 10,000 USD and 13,000 Argentinian pesos stolen from her. He and his wife were shocked that she’d be carrying that much currency and that someone was able to steal it from her. As his wife said, “If I had that much on me on an aircraft, I wouldn’t be sleeping, and I’d probably be sitting on my purse.”
Proved
11:30 PM. 72 degrees F outside. The night was still. Nothing stirred. Moon and starshine relieved the night’s black canopy.
He slipped outside with a flashlight and quietly looked up and down the street and around the bushes. Just as expected, he found no zombies.
He nodded to himself as he returned inside. This conclusively proved that zombies don’t like warm weather.
Tuesday’s Wandering Thought
With Boo’s demise, the mystery of which cat struggled with the litter box was finally decisively closed.
Sunday’s Wandering Thought
A friend who is a grandmother related a story about her latest granddaughter, Vera. As soon as she found the words, Vera announced that her name was Peaches and she would not answer to any other name.
That was two years ago. She’s now five. A young cat found his way to her side. Cat and human are with one another like snow and white. She calls him Butters. He’s nine months old.
The adventures of Peaches and Butters are just beginning.
The Order
The clouds spread like thick, gray frosting.
Then came the atmospheric cannon fire.
The cats arrived at my feet, leery of the sky barrage.
Then came rain, powering down the sky, sluicing down the streets,
followed by the smell, the petrichor of warm asphalt and cement,
grass and dirt, lingering in the afternoon’s fading embrace.
Finally, there was tentative Robin song, announcing,
The end.
Michael Seidel, writer 