words from the spyhouse

Various things I've learned this week:

When the blooms fall off lilies, it might mean that the plants are getting too much water or too little water, too much sunlight or not enough sunlight, or it might mean that lilies just don't bloom very long into the summer.

If you are a man in your 50s and you take a boy of 20 on a whirlwind trip to Europe, chances are you each aren't going to want to do the same things 24/7.

I like the stories on Season 1 of The Newsroom except for the mismatched love interests, which are frustrating and eventually predictable.

I need to figure out if I can write my book on Google Drive and whether I should re-think having the word "masturbation" in the first sentence.  Might it set the wrong tone?

It would have been a good weekend to have been in Seattle, weather-wise, but there were only three Delta fare specials this week:  Rapid City, South Dakota, where, even though I've never been there, I might move to one day to live in an apartment over a hardware store to write my book (if Home Depot and Walmart haven't put all the hardware stores out of business there);  Chicago; and Detroit.  I'm not ready to have my Rapid City vision crushed by reality yet, so that was out.  Chicago, now that I think about it,  I maybe should have considered.  Detroit? --  yeah, right.

Some people in my life are just plain mean, and I'm having a hard time dealing with the realization that people that I care about can be mean to other people that I care about.  Where does that leave me?

Even though I've gotten away from blogging every day, I haven't had anybody complain about that to me.
*****
P.S.  The Spyhouse is a coffeeshop on Nicollet Avenue just south of  downtown.  It's sort of part funky, part hipster, and then there's me, but the coffee sure is good.