Whenever Dr. Wife and I travel, I like to catch little moments on film, usually whispering into my phone so as not to a.) annoy other people and b.) embarrass Dr. Wife. Today I have some short videos of an angry sea and puffy clouds:
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Whenever Dr. Wife and I travel, I like to catch little moments on film, usually whispering into my phone so as not to a.) annoy other people and b.) embarrass Dr. Wife. Today I have some short videos of an angry sea and puffy clouds:
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With Murphy’s passing, I figured I’d reblog this series of posts, dating back to before I picked her up for the first time. Yesterday would have been five years (I believe) since I first picked her up—her “gotcha” day. I was blessed to have that much time with this wonderful, loving dog.
I won’t say more at this point, as her passing is still very raw, but I hope you’ll enjoy this celebration of Murphy’s life. The way the old girl was doing even six months ago, I figured she’d probably keep ticking, but time caught up with her, as it will all of us. It just goes to show that we don’t know when Death will come knocking on our door; better make the most of the time we have with our loved ones, even the furry ones.
With that, here is “TBT^16: Big News: TPP is Going to the Dogs“:
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After a fairly rapid decline over the past couple of months, Dr. Wife and I made the difficult decision to put Murphy to sleep. I took her yesterday (Monday, 20 July 2026) to our new vet—Murphy’s first visit, and last—and she passed around 1:11 PM EST.
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On the last night of our cruise I cracked open a beautiful, leather-bound journal Dr. Wife got me on one of her discount shopping excursions. I’d been meaning to do some writing about our trip in it, or to jot down some haiku (my preferred poetic form when composing verse). I came up with a few haiku while sitting in the Solarium while a group of rambunctious kids played ping pong just outside (I heard an adult chide them for “crawling around on the floor like animals”). I guess I’m used to writing while kids are being noisy from years of creating from my classroom right next to the gym.
Anyway, here is the first of a few installments of cruise haiku.
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Yours portly is squeezing in a quick, post-cruise Lazy Sunday with some recent posts featuring reedy chorales:
Enjoy!
—TPP
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Today Dr. Wife and I will be returning from a week-long Royal Caribbean cruise through the Western Caribbean. The cruise left from Tampa on Saturday, 11 July 2026 and returns this morning (Saturday, 18 July 2026). Along the way, we made stops in Costa Playa, Mexico; Roatán, Honduras; Belize City, Belize; and Cozumel, Mexico. It was a jam-packed itinerary with plenty of time for rest—and celebratory gluttony.
Before diving into the details, here were my favorite stops, from most favorite to least favorite:
1.) Roatán, Honduras – they have Bojangle’s! It’s also just a beautiful place with super friendly people.
2.) Cozumel, Mexico – we only saw the touristy area just off of the cruise ship, but you can buy stuff like azithromycin over-the-counter, which is wild.
3.) Puerto Costa Maya, Mexico – we saw Mayan ruins here and drove through a village called “Pineapple Town.”
4.) Belize City – I really wanted to like Belize City, hoping it’d be some kind of Anglo-Caribbean wonderland nestled in Central American. Instead, it was like the rest of Central America and the Caribbean, but somehow worse. I thought British imperialism would have left a bit more of a positive mark on this damp, effluvial city.
This cruise was only my second, but it cemented for me that I am a cruise person.
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Dr. Wife and I are on the penultimate day of our cruise, one last day at sea before we get back to Tampa, and then Charlotte, and then South Carolina. It’s been a really enjoyable trip before she starts her “big girl” job post-residency.
We’ve had several stops on this cruise, including two in Mexico and one in Belize City. Our favorite stop, however, was at Roatán, Honduras.
Roatán is an island off the coast of Honduras. It has the feel of both an island and the mountains, as it’s essentially a forty-ish-mile long mountain range with a width of only four-ish miles, so you’re pretty much in the “mountains” when you set foot on shore.
The day we landed in Roatán, the weather was overcast, but quickly turned rainy. The rain then morphed into a torrential downpour mere minutes after got out of our little Hyundai tour bus at a place called “AJ’s Monkeys and Sloths“; it’s the kind of place where I’m pretty sure the owner and his family live on the premises and charge admission for people to see guinea pigs, spider monkeys, and sloths.
It was pretty awesome. The rain was intense, not unlike the sudden downpours we’ll get in South Carolina on a really hot, humid afternoon in late summer. The soaking rain gave the whole visit something of a festive and adventurous feel. At one point, a gust of wind knocked loose a tarp, which fell upon Dr. Wife and me, which was humorous and only hastened our steps into a cage with a large parrot.
The staff was amazing. They spoke the best English of any of our various tour guides on the trip. Apparently, Roatán has a large English-speaking population. Lots of places had English names attached to them, and Dr. Wife and I cracked up to learn that Bojangle’s—yes, the Southern fried chicken franchise—was ubiquitous on the island. I did a little research (talked to AI), and learned that Bojangle’s experimented with international franchises, and the only one that worked was the initial one in Roatán, where the English-speaking population, coupled with the popularity of spicy fried chicken in the Caribbean and Central America, made it an instant hit.
We also visited an iguana farm, but because the rain cooled things down so much (Dr. Wife actually had the heat running in our stateroom when we returned), they largely stayed in the trees. On a hot day, they apparently descend from the trees and bask and feed on the shore. Also, they are a delicacy, and our tour guide told us that, if prepared properly, they taste “better than chicken.” The owners of this particular iguana farm raise them to protect them from the cook’s pot, so it functions as a sanctuary. They also protect tarpan and some other local fish species that are popular with Honduran cooks.
There was one really obnoxious Boomer grandma on the trip with her two young grandchildren. She kept asking annoying questions in that voice that George Costanza’s mom has, but even more irritating. The cruise line indicated the tour was about four hours, but the actual tour was around three-and-a-half. The lady piped up and asked if we were going to lunch. You could almost hear a mental groan from everyone on the bus. I actually said, “no” from the back of the bus. I’d like to think I was something a a hero that day.
Regardless, here’s a little video about all the stuff we saw in Roatán (including the Boomer lady):
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I’m writing today’s post the morning that we head out for our flight before our current cruise (that’s a lot of clauses). I’m excited to see what kinds of modern art adorn our current ship, as it’s a different one (I think) than the one from our honeymoon.
As such, it seemed like a fun time to look back at the art from that honeymoon cruise. Some of it was quite odd.
With that, here is 19 December 2025’s “Phone it in Friday CXIV: YouTube Roundup CLXXIV: Cruise Art“:
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One of the enduring temptations for Christians of a more intellectual or theological bent is to take pride in their knowledge of Scripture. It’s scarily easy to fall into that trap, but it’s one that must be avoided, lest we either a.) fall into the heresy of Gnosticism or b.) are so proud in our knowledge, we sin against God. Really, both are likely outcomes, and “b.” includes “a.” Furthermore, no one is an effective witness if they come across as a boastful know-it-all.
The danger of that pride is very, very real. Consider that it was the pride of the Pharisees that condemned Jesus to the Cross. The pride of the Athenian elites condemned Socrates to hemlock. In both cases, the condemned poked at and exposed the foolish pride of their tormentors.
The appeal to know some “secret” knowledge, or to have the real answers, is one that those of an intellectual stripe must constantly guard against. I speak from experience (and that’s not me giving myself a very roundabout, backhanded compliment, but acknowledging that I have struggled with this sin). Ultimately, Jesus Is the Source of all Truth.
With that, here is 26 November 2025’s “Wayback Wednesday: Gnostic Mysteries“:
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