I’m done.

Finished.

Finito.

Two years and gobs of learning later, I now have an MPA beside my name.  But I don’t want to talk about graduate studies, or graduate degrees.  It consumed the last two years of my life and frankly, that is enough.

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I love Facebook.  Love it.  It allows re-connection with old friends, nurturing new ones, and feels like I am still part of good, but distant friends’, present. 

It is the shiny side of a new penny in the dirt, all bronze and glittering.

And damn it.  Reduced my writing to one-liners.  Simple status updates that say so much, and yet nothing at all.

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A lump.

I wonder.  Did those two words have such an echo of foreboding twenty-five years ago? 

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Boycotts.  Once in a great while they can be useful.  Like when I boycott chocolate in early spring to make sure my ass fits in a bathing suit over the summer.  Or when I boycott cussing.  Ok, that one rarely works.  Lets be honest. 

Some people are power-boycotters.  They boycott businesses, people, and in some instances even thoughts, in an effort to punish or correct a condition they believe the business, person or thought caused. 

I’ll boycott BP when I stop using oil.  Until then it seems a bit, well, hypocritical.

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I am making plans.  Big plans.  They involve copious amounts of soil, numerous plants,trees, and a napkin blueprint.  But first, a retirement party.

See?

The More Things Stay the Same…..