The PR Blog

You may already know me. I am a simple yellow wood pencil. I have already recounted to you the wonder and amazement of my genealogy.

From the mines of Sri Lanka to the forests of California, my lineage is anything but linear – it is instead a complex global collaboration to bring my constituent parts together. I trust you know this tale well and do not need me to restate it here today.

Today, I learned that being a wonder with a hammer and a nail is not all it is cracked up to be. 

Especially when it comes to flatpack. 

Some people are good at flatpack and some.. well, maybe not.

Let me explain.

Speaking to a group of disability advocates, and wanting to be thoughtful of those who were blind or vision impaired, Vice President Kamala Harris began her talk by saying, “I am Kamala Harris, my pronouns are she and her, I am a woman sitting at the table wearing a blue suit.” But what, exactly, did she mean by those words? What, after all, is a woman? And what do we learn about Harris from her preferred gender pronouns?

In raising these questions, my purpose is not to mock the Vice President. Rather, it is to mock the cultural madness that set the stage for her comments. We must not become accustomed to this social insanity!

It happens to all of us, the day our beloved husband  or wife   departs to Heavenly fields. What do we do to fill the gap.   

What do we do to replace a beloved Cat or Dog.   My husband of 65 years has gone  and just recently I lost not only my old cat but also my 17 year old Jack Russell.   When you live alone you have to have someone to  talk to,  someone who  you have to look after.

So I did what I have done before I looked up the RSPCA web site.

Like all children, one of the first things I learned is that parents were putty in our hands. Even at a very young age, we realised that being cute and batting our eyelids can perform miracles.

From the time we were in the cradle, we quickly spotted that a coo or a little smile; a chubby little hand reaching out to touch them; a cry or whimper ; all would achieve the intended result: we would be held, comforted and fussed over.

Job done.