So this guy I knew wayyyyy back in college recently resurfaced. He was quite a talented musician, but last I knew he was giving that up to pursue another (I think less adventurous) path. I was pleased to hear from him, and, best of all, to discover that he’s writing and releasing his music again. He is a one-man operation, laying down track after track, until what is in his head makes it out into the world for the rest of us. Go listen, and, if you like what you hear, by God, buy it!!

Some of us worry more than others. For my part, I do it a lot. So much, in fact, that I’ve taken to wearing a rubber band around my wrist, and, when I catch myself borrowing trouble from the future, I give my wrist a wicked snap. I have gone through four rubber bands so far. They start out nice and stretchy, but, eventually, they become slack with overuse.

 Anyway, one of my favorite people has had some extra things to worry about lately, so I made her the Worry Man above. To employ his services, you simply scrawl your worry du jour on a tiny scrap of paper, fold it up, and pop it into the Worry Man’s creepy, gaping maw. There is no way to retrieve your worries, by the way. They remain permanently in the Worry Man’s guts, and I made sure he has space enough for a few years’ worth of worries at least. Once they are in him, the burden of your worry has been transfered to him — leaving you free to come up with some new worries, I suppose.

–S.

First, Happy Fourth to those who celebrate it! (This calls for jam!!) Allow me to explain.

Last year wasn’t a good berry year, but this year, well, I’ve never seen anything like this. The king and I have been picking black raspberries from the hedge I installed to keep trespassers away from the honey bees. We’ve been mashing them into jam and canning said jam. It would appear that we have enough to keep ourselves in jam for the next 10 years

By extension, everyone we know will be receiving jam, no matter the occasion. It’s your birthday? Jam. Your anniversary? Congratulations! Here is some delicious jam. New baby? Jam is the perfect gift for an infant boy or girl, no? . . .

Sure. As long as they aren’t too spooked by the labels we made for the jam jars, that is. What began as a play on words came to life as a disturbing nod to the bubonic plague. Good times!