Monday, February 8, 2016

A wonderful little boy told me the other day, "It doesn't have to be Thanksgiving Day to say what you are thankful for.

Few things strike greater fear in the parental heart than these: parent-teacher conferences. Highly educated adults, captains of industry, even veterans of foreign wars can be reduced to puddles of insecurity at the very prospect of conferring with their child's teacher.

Winter fast approaches and so does the Christmas holiday. I see large snowflakes blending with spattering rain as I wait to taxi my daughter Kathie and our neighbor Michael to school.

The calendar officially says December. The holidays. The pace. The weather. The end of the year. The year's 12th month is either welcome or despised: a reminder of tasks undone or accomplished, of goals unmet or fulfilled, and of plans waylaid or on track.

For years, the great philosophers of the world have told us people can be divided into two basic groups: the Day After Thanksgiving Shoppers and rational human beings.

Our menu is planned and the table is partially set in my mind until it's time for us to really put everything in place.

Rare is the day when either an editor or several readers do not call or e-mail to note the heavy population of facts residing in this space.

White HAZMAT suits. That's what I think of when I hear the words "Superfund site." White suits with self-contained breathing apparatus, gloves, boots.

Sometimes, in the midst of living life, we forget the importance of fun and games in the big scheme of things.

"Many years ago in the '60s, Black squirrels of London Were exported far away, To Kent State University Where they populate today.
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