A couple years ago, Andrew was going deep into AI and all that it meant to our future: how kids learned in school, what impact it had on our and other industries, the ethics of using it for content—most personally, what it meant to us as writers.

Having a widowed mom, I’ve discovered this past year, is a different experience than having a married mom.

Like the rest of the country, I have been unsettled and on edge. About a week ago, I swore off the media. The newspaper is going unread, links texted by friends are being ignored, the radio is all but silenced. And in that void, I have found new-old passions and a whole mountain of inspiration.

I woke up one morning to a text message that had come in the middle of the night from someone thinking I was a Vet. Their dog was sick and they were looking for help.

Given my sporadic dalliances with this blog, here’s an appropriately bits-and-bobs post, arriving in peak summer.

Here’s a modern-day expression I’m not so keen on: It’s been a minute.

But so it has.

Parker tells me I have squishy legs. A squishy belly. A squishy butt. Squishy arms.

And you know what? She’s right. I am soft.

This is what happens when you’re middle-aged: you become really excited about composting and community gardens.