
We now get up to seven a day, including blue from our Americauna, white from our Leghorn, pale brown from various ones, dark brown possibly from the Rhode Island Red, the occasional brown speckled one, and someone is laying pink.


We now get up to seven a day, including blue from our Americauna, white from our Leghorn, pale brown from various ones, dark brown possibly from the Rhode Island Red, the occasional brown speckled one, and someone is laying pink.


Here is the basic wooden door pull that finally came off my son’s closet in our rented farmhouse. The closet is plywood or chipboard or something like that, hollow, and from repeated usage, this screw had stripped around itself and now just popped out whenever you tried to open the accordion door.

Here is the replacement, from my best bud, Hobby Lobby.
I love Hobby Lobby. It’s my source for knitting supplies, including wool and cotton yarns and needles; affordable canvases, acrylic paints, palettes and brushes for my (and my son’s) painting vice; model-railroad materials for whenever I need to build a model of Tenochtitlan; fabric for a Renfaire tent or a cave woman costume; and wood for those hippie woodburning projects, not to mention the usual scrapbooking supplies, gift wrap, stickers, and Christmas decorations.
Sadly, or perhaps happily, this post is not a paid promotion.
In addition to all this, Hobby Lobby has an impressive selection of themed shelf brackets, towel and key hooks, and drawer pulls, often in cast-iron. These are not just cutesy country style fixtures (though they do have that). You could put together a goth or steampunk or French Country or Log Cabin look for a room, easily, with the supplies found there.
Long story short, I walked into the Hobby Lobby variety-drawer-pull section, and within seconds I had found the beauty above. It was 50% off, so I think I paid about two bucks for it. In order to put it into the plywood door, I had to use a plastic drywall anchor.
The thing that made this find so serendipitous, though, was that the closet in question resides in the room of my rabbit-obsessed son. (Rabbits!) Additionally, said room has the following window valance:

I mean.
The only downside is that, as I now notice in the picture, the rest of the door looks kind of bad by comparison.
The upside is that this post is now long enough to appear on a Friday and not on a Monday.
Stephen Renney was in his windowless office, eating a sandwich and drinking Fanta from a can. He sensed me standing in his doorway, looked up and then started making those slightly embarrassed, fidgety movements we all make when we’ve been caught eating alone. As though eating were some sort of not-quite-respectable indulgence instead of the most natural thing in the world.
“Sorry,” I said, giving the time-honoured response, and looking slightly embarrassed myself, as though I’d caught him on the loo.
“Not at all,” he responded, ridiculously forgiving me.
Sacrifice, by S.J. Bolton, p. 299

I chose this photo off Pexels, and now I almost can’t stand to post it, because it could be my dad in 20 years.
I’ve been thinking lately about how the death of the mentor, in fiction, is often more poignant than the death of the Significant Other. Maybe it’s because the former happens more often. In a normal quest-type story, the mentor gets killed at some point, often kind of early in the action, and the S.O. doesn’t get killed at all, or often even threatened until later in the story. The exception would be crime-fighting superhero tragic back stories, where having a beloved wife killed off to serve as motivation is so common that it has been given a derogatory name (“fridging”).
Anyway, the above paragraph is, of course, just about stories that follow very conventional models. Stories in the wild are quite individual and they go all over the place. Here are some mentor deaths that spring to mind, from stories good, bad, and ugly:
In the comments, please add your own.
Perhaps another reason that the mentor’s death is more poignant than the S.O.’s is that the relationship has gone on longer and has been, in a sense, more important to the young protagonist. It is, of course, in a sense the mentor’s job to die. He or she will have to take a less prominent role in the young hero’s life as the latter matures. And, older people tend to die. Joseph, on his deathbed, says, “I am about to go the way of all the earth.” But a tragic mentor death, like the ones above, seems to happen too soon, when we still need them, when we’re not ready.
I myself have ruthlessly killed off my characters’ mentors, sometimes more than one in the same book. I did not plan to do this in order to torture my young protags; it was just the way the story unfolded. One or two deaths even took me by surprise. However, some of my older men and women managed to survive the story long enough in order to be a rock for the rising generation.
Some people, sadly, have really tragic childhoods and are faced with death, loss, and betrayal well before they should have been. For young readers not in this position, I find that the type of story death that they find most poignant (and that therefore is most likely to appear in their literature) changes with stage of life:
So, when I was a kid, it was stories of animals (including toys — I’m looking at you, The Velveteen Rabbit) that really got me. Now that I’m a parent, it’s stories where the baby or toddler dies that I really can’t stand to read.
It’s as if our hearts are pieces of leather that just keep getting softer and more tattered and beat up the more they experience.
I’ve been busy lately, so this post was written in one sitting. I apologize that it’s sort of a mind dump. I’m sure all these things have been articulated before, and much better than this, probably by Jordan Peterson.
Share your thoughts in the comments.
Just sayin’.
This will only be amusing if you know them.

Matt Walsh: What Is A Woman?
Ben Shapiro: What Are Feelings?
Michael Knowles: What Is the Protestant Reformation?
Andrew Klavan: What Is the Council of Elrond?

Badger … Matt Walsh
Toad … Michael Knowles
Mole … Andrew Klavan
Rat … Ben Shapiro
Waste forces within him, and a desert all around, this man stood still on his way across a silent terrace, and saw for a moment, lying in the wilderness before him, a mirage of honorable ambition, self-denial, and perseverance. In the fair city of this vision, there were airy galleries from which the loves and graces looked upon him, gardens in which the fruits of life hung ripening, waters of Hope that sparkled in his sight. A moment, and it was gone. Climbing to a high chamber in a well of houses, he threw himself down in his clothes on a neglected bed, and its pillow was wet with wasted tears.
Sadly, sadly, the sun rose.
A Tale of Two Cities, Book II, Ch. V, “The Jackal”



This is such a great pattern for showcasing different color combinations.