I pulled up to our house. The Boy was in the backseat. I commented that we should get the goats to come and eat the ivy* on our hill. The Boy replied:
"Why don't we get a flame thrower and we could watch the ivy burn from the house. That would be far more horrific."
Yeah. That'll never happen. And where does he get these ideas? We don't watch a bunch of wild action movies. Do boys just dream about this stuff?
*In Seattle, English Ivy is considered a noxious weed that squeezes out native species.
This blog is about the little and big thoughts that pop into my head. I once read that when Flannery O'Connor walked into a bookstore, she would want to edit her published works with a red pen. In the digital world, we have the luxury of tweaking things up after we've hit the publish button. I can be a perfectionist/procrastinator, where waiting for the ideal means little gets done. Here I will share what is not--and likely will never be--perfect.
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