Phyllis Johnson

I think perhaps I’ll do a draft of my own obituary. After all, who knows me better than me?

It also seems rather thoughtless to make those close to me, at one of the worst times of their lives, try to craft a coherent portrait of their loved one. Really, you don’t do your best work under those circumstances.

What are you good at? No, I don’t necessarily mean showy or big money-making things. Those are essential, but they’re not what really keeps the world spinning.

How far will we go to avoid work? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the (patented) Egg Stractor.

I remember when my smug, ninth-grade self began taking French in school, and what a silly language it was to me. In translation, the French would “make” a walk, instead of “taking” a walk.

To peoples and traditions planet-wide, it is the season of light.

If you ignore something long enough, it will go away. When I was a paper-pusher, that was one of the unspoken, unwritten rules.

Our ancestors were amazingly smart. I know, for them, most of the techniques and recipes they invented were about survival, not artistic creativity, but I’m nonetheless impressed.

The autumnal equinox is upon us, and virtually every tribe and religion has a harvest festival of some kind to thank God, the Gods and/or Goddesses, or the other spirits of life and plenty for the

I know that advertisers have a lot of leeway in what they say, and some go over the line with their claims, but how dumb do they think we are?

Several decades ago, some friends of mine started a business called the Acme Worry Service. The idea was that you could hire them to do all your worrying.


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