Close, but no cigar. Yesterday Monkey and I went to the Little Farm, where local city slickers take their youngins to observe the pastoral delights most of us have never known firsthand (yet there they keep showing up, in all the books we read our kids). I myself was reared
In case you couldn’t make out the tatoo from the earlier post: today’s afterglow of Sunday’s Pride, still goin’ strong. It sure kicks some tot lot #ss.
O how they’ve changed. This year my Pride began in a friend’s church, of all places — though I think we can all agree that the Unitarian Universalists are not your mother’s church. I had contributed to the service (offerings? program?) by sharing a “reflection” on gender, as seen through