Blueberry Season
We receive a hearty “Welcome, hullo! Glad you’re here!” from the blueberry man, who is sitting in a plastic patio chair next to an old truck filled with boxes and buckets.
We receive a hearty “Welcome, hullo! Glad you’re here!” from the blueberry man, who is sitting in a plastic patio chair next to an old truck filled with boxes and buckets.
I’m not always good at saying what I mean to say, so here: Mom likes to tell me how you could soothe my crying as a baby by carrying me around the house, pointing out people in picture frames, and telling me stories about them.
With strength in numbers, Cadets was wildly successful at my church. And then there was our paltry GEMS organization.
I promptly forgot my Apple ID and password the day I got my first smartphone, and so I haven’t gotten a new app in about 4 years.
Riding the bus requires a release of control. The person using a wheelchair has the priority now; whatever my plans were, they can wait. We’re both riding the same bus, and we’ll get there when we get there.
Here’s to people and their things. Here’s to not liking sports and to nose piercings, to back tattoos and bro tanks, to longboards, to reading the newspaper each morning with a cup of coffee.
He’s just one guy, he won’t be around forever, and he’ll probably never run into a black person for the rest of his life. No harm, no foul, right?
These works are about as subtle as a trainwreck, but they are surprisingly fun, despite their depressingly urgent call to take environmental responsibility.
It’s a FFW live blog from your local friendly post calvin editor! This post will be updated throughout the weekend. Stay tuned for wise words and cheesy English major feelings.
Getting into the river was a comically tedious process. Everything was covered in a foot of snow, and the banks were mostly iced-over.