The Holy Grail Press
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Word of the Every So Often
abscission layer: (noun) a specialized layer of cells in a plant at the base of a leaf, flower, or fruit that allows that leaf, flower, or fruit to fall off. The abscission layer on my iron wood tree, for instance, keeps the marcescent leaves on well into the winter, and even into the spring. However, this may be a way that the tree protects the new buds.
On This Day...
Way back in 1848, there was a World Anti-Slavery Convention in London. Which was good. However, it excluded women, which seems a bit... off. In response to being excluded, two women, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Lucretia Mott, organized the Seneca Convention on July 19, 1848. That convention, attended by both men and women, came up with the Declaration of Sentiments, which was based on the Declaration of Independence, but included women. And it was from that Convention in Seneca that the Women’s Suffrage Movement began, which mostly focused on giving women the vote, which finally happened on August 18, 1920. And women haven’t been discriminated against ever since.
Cartoon of the Week
“How do you spell that?”
Stuff
Seeing the Dead
The dead are easy to see
once you get the hang of it.
At first you can just barely see them
out of the corner of your eye.
Remember when you thought you saw something
that wasn’t there?
Yep, that was a dead guy.
With practice you can get good at it.
The secret’s in not trying at all.
But take my word for it,
it’s not really worth the effort.
Once you do it,
it sort of becomes an obsession.
You start looking for them everywhere.
For the most part,
they’re exactly where you’d expect them to be:
In the graveyard just sitting on their tombstones,
smoking cigarettes and staring at their watches.
All of them with nothing to say.
It’s like some demented remake of Our Town
that has no point.
But then you start to see them in other places, too,
like walking around in the mall
or waiting for a show at the theatre.
Just this morning
I saw a dead man standing on the side of the road,
smoking a cigarette with his coat across his arm.
He was like one of those hitchhikers
who doesn’t even bother to put his thumb in the air,
because he knows eventually somebody’s going to stop,
and even then he’s not in any hurry.
And that dead guy,
he gave me the look.
That, “Yeah, you,” look.
But there’s no way I’m going to stop.
I won’t even stop for a live guy.
What makes him think I’d stop for him?
Besides, I’m not going that far.
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