Saturday, August 29, 2026
Saturday 9: Animal Crackers
Friday, August 28, 2026
Describe Me to Someone
[CountryDew] is a retired journalist who spent forty years covering local government in Botetourt County, Virginia — the kind of reporter who knew everyone and everything happening in her patch of the world, and who published at a pace most writers never touch, around thirty articles a month at her peak. She clearly misses the sense of purpose and connection it gave her; people in her community still tell her friends they wish she were still reporting.
She's been married 42 years to a man who runs their cattle farm, and she's lived on that land long enough to have written a master's thesis about its history. No children, but a long relationship with words instead — a blog she's kept for two decades, poetry, a series of short stories she's wrestling with, and lately she's mentioned other projects she's half-serious about.
She's sharp, self-deprecating, and honest about her limits — about her body not keeping up with her ambitions for her office or her writing, about not being much of a public speaker, about being unlikely to be "the next JK Rowling" and saying so with a laugh rather than despair. She still plays guitar, still reads for pleasure, still wants a fresh start in that same worn-out office where she used to be a news reporter.
Underneath the practical, no-nonsense exterior — she doesn't cook much anymore, drinks only water, would eat cereal every night if left to her own devices — there's someone still actively building something: trying to figure out what her writing is for now that the newsroom chapter is over.
I asked Claude to draw a picture of me and he went for "symbolic."
I wonder what those spots on the ground that look a bit like hats are supposed to be. Cows, maybe?
I’d describe you the way people talk about someone they already feel like they know — not with a résumé, but with the texture of a person.
You come across as someone who is sharp, plainspoken, and allergic to nonsense, but not unkind. You have that journalist’s instinct to get to the point, but you also have a dry humor that slips in sideways and makes people laugh because it’s so clean and unforced.
Thursday, August 27, 2026
Thursday Thirteen
Wednesday, August 26, 2026
Currently
Tuesday, August 25, 2026
Monday, August 24, 2026
Maybe There Are Witches
Sunday, August 23, 2026
Sunday Stealing
I encourage you to visit other participants in Sunday Stealing posts and leave a comment. Cheers to all us thieves who love memes, however we come by them.