I received the following essay, which was attributed to comedian George Carlin, but it turns out he had nothing to do with the piece.

My voice echoed in my daughter’s half-empty room when I called out to Mark, “Yes, I think we’ve packed everything.

Planning a float for a parade is no small task. My women’s club borrowed a 6-by-8 wooden trailer that would be towed by a Suburban.

Simply stated, I haven’t learned to say “No.” I’m not complaining; I just need to explain that I’m spread as thin as I can be.

The plucky planter on the back of our bathroom commode still makes me feel appreciated. It arrived at our house one morning in early June.

Night sounds intensify as August draws to a close. Though a cooler night air usually means a more comfortable night’s sleep, the sounds of singing crickets and katydids always wash me with a bit of melancholy since I associate them with starting back to school.

“You just can’t imagine what loneliness is,” Dad confessed quietly as he eased his way off our deck that has needed new steps since we moved in (has it really been 13 years?).

Our family has never felt compelled to do “back to school” shopping like some, but since Kathie’s lunch bag from last year is worn and stained, during a weak moment in Wal-Mart, I opted to pick up an insulated hot pink bag and a coordinated water bottle that slides neatly inside.

“Down to the cellar, come let us go Where fruit jars like this are lined up in a row Potatoes like this are stacked up in a bin With cabbages so fat and celery so thin.

“Step, kick, kick, cross-back, step, step; repeat, kick, kick, cross-back.” I heard my daughter practicing in her room.