Wednesday, May 25, 2016

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.

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

With the Irish clan and the Germanic horde again descending on our home this Thanksgiving, the week preceding their arrival threatens more action than the following week's three-day, four-night holiday cruise on the SS Club Guebert.

The screen in the darkened room showed a rural road now bordered on the left by new homes. "I used to farm this," said Knox County's Tim Norris as he flipped to the next slide.

Have you ever noticed that words of praise lift us momentarily, while sharp words of criticism often linger, prompting thoughts of what we should have said in response, over and over, for days on end.

I have nothing against Thanksgiving. Really. Any holiday that has pie as its main export is all right with me.

From the moment I held my firstborn son in my arms, I realized, almost instantaneously, that this wild, wonderful, unpredictably joyous journey I had only just begun would, in the blink of a moment, lead to my own planned obsolescence.
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