Birds Behaving Badly

I could not resist the alliteration, even though this you-wanna-piece-of-me Osprey (from Sarasota 2017 visit) is the baddest bird I could find in my limited ornithographic collection. Yes I made up a word. So sue me. I did have a…

Lots of Moving Parts

I have not decided how, or if, to sustain Fragments at the same time that I am spending most of my tiny stock of writing minutes posting to Substack. I started posting there several years ago when the blog here…

An Org of My Own

It hurts me that my people would refer to me as a WHAT and not a WHO. I am willing to educate them.

Covid for Christmas

It could have been worse. Briefly—because my dwell-time at the keyboard is not full-strength: If you are over 65 and have just tested positive for Covid-19, you need to realize (as I did not) that you have only 5 days…

Doodling as Brain Booster

I deserve an apology from my high school teachers who confiscated my etchings, mazes and caricatures during class. Unfortunately, the latter were good enough it was clear who my model had been. And so, let me just say right now,…

Where the Sidewalk Ends

[You may have seen this post on Substack. Explanation at the end.] I thought of this 150 yr old farmhouse and the land around it as my story for life. Then life says maybe not. That was Fragments One. I…

An Object at Rest

? On the very positive side of “why this writing space gets no love” of late, as I wrote recently on Substack, the coming of spring and summer has been liberating! The landscape beyond beckons me through the sliding doors,…

In or Out of The Game after 70?

I was watching The Crown yesterday while eating my usual and customary lunch apple. A line from the script grabbed my attention. It was spoken by the frail and apparently dying sister of Admiral Mountbatten as she languished in her…

Blogging without a Net

This spaghetti might not stick to the proverbial wall, but I’m slinging it anyway. And I’m telling anybody that’ll listen. Old dog: new tricks? So often at Fragments, the image has been the story; the memory; the point of the…

You Don’t Bring Me Flowers

You Don’t Bring Me Flowers Anymore June 11, 2002 It was just a couple of days before my much-anticipated travels Out West to see our daughter. I was in the bedroom fretting over the details of the trip. Ann called…

On Short Shelf Life

Had coffee with a friend recently–a few years my senior–who showed me a picture on his phone. I recognized it as a raven. He said it was a tattoo. His own. He described the recent decision and related experience in…

BlueBird Breakfast

I posted this morning over at Substack where the friction is less than here in WordPress. You can go there and read my musings about diets and digestion, with more to come about bugs for breakfast in your own bowl…