My Adopted Home Is Bleeding and You Need To Understand Why

This post was written by one of my fellow-authors in Once Upon an Expat. Margie is an American woman married to a Turkish man, watching the horrors there unfold in a way the rest of us need to understand. It’s short (a skill that seems to escape me), and it’s important. Please read.

Laughter Is Better Than Prozac

I woke up this morning with a broken heart again and I’m tired of it. I’m too old for this crap. People of Earth, I’m tried of citizens acting like a bunch of unruly toddlers, (And God knows I’m clear on the behaviors of unruly toddlers- even unruly toddlers with anesthesia hang-overs this week). This world is in desperate need of a swift kick in the ass and a good grounding with no electronics for at least a month. I mean, people WTF?

My mature response to the world’s current state is a burning desirer to jump on my bicycle and ride far, far away with my handlebar streamers flowing in the wind and my banana seat cutting into my thigh-chub. But as adulthood took away my damn banana seat and replaced my handlebar basket with a fat kid in a bike trailer behind me, riding off into the sunset…

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