WifeGeeding brought home some chicks last night, just not the kind of chicks I was imagining. Apparently, we are chicken-sitting until Thursday. Apparently, she doesn’t understand they tweet all the live long day and I work from home.
DaughterGeeding wanted a photo of me with DogGeedingII, BunnyGeeding, and several of the chicks. I caved. DogGeedingII seems scared of them but BunnyGeeding has warmed up to them.
One of the chicks is named Nugget.
I think it would be somewhat cruel to cook any chicken until they leave. I don’t know if a chicken can smell, but off hand, I don’t think any species would like to smell the cooked flesh of its own kind.
I’ve rediscovered Elvis and now I realize how much I miss singing the old gospel songs in church. All this contemporary church singing has worn thin on me. I’m not saying the church should only sing the gospels, just that we shouldn’t forget our past.
The TICKET interviewed one of the passengers from that Southwest Airlines flight yesterday. He said he quickly grabbed his wallet to find a credit card so he could log into WiFi so he could send a message to his loved ones. I think he also said he lived streamed it on Facebook or something like that.
Unlike other airlines, Southwest doesn’t assign seats. Only one person died on that flight. I think it’s somewhat interesting how she chose that one seat out of all the seats she could have chosen.
No one pays attention to the flight attendants announcement:
Many would be surprised to know that was the passenger Southwest every lost due to a plane accident.
A particular rough patch in Barbara Bush‘s remarkable life, who was a distant relative of President Franklin Pierce:
In September 1949, Barbara’s parents were involved in a car accident in which her mother was instantly killed. Since she was pregnant, Barbara was advised not to travel from California to the funeral, and the event left a lasting scar. Three months later, the couple welcomed a second child, a daughter named Pauline Robinson Bush in honor of Barbara’s late mother. In October 1953, the child, nicknamed “Robin,” died of leukemia, leaving Barbara and her husband devastated. It was during this traumatic time that Barbara’s reddish-brown hair turned prematurely white.