He was an unrecognized genius.

It’s the shortest day of the year! Which is awesome, because that means tomorrow is NOT the shortest day of the year, and eventually it will begin staying light past two in the afternoon.

As my father would have said, “We’re going into the gravy!” Which on one hand makes little to no sense, but on the other is immediately understood by everyone. It’s like a Zen anti-koan. (Also, who doesn’t like gravy?) Genius.


  1. I think our dads would have been pals, just judging by the sound of this cryptic dadism; a species of pater-murmur which is often, as the spelling suggests, but a hop and a skip from dadaism. Also, my yearly hat is off to Winter Solstice because it’s the birthday of a certain marvelous roman candle named Stella; my twelve-year- old laughter grenade. Thx for the brief but potent post, Michelle.


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