Twenty years ago to the day there was a free and fair election that brought to power a politician you were proud to vote for because he was for the people and you were, let’s face it, people.

The fog always brought something primal out in Misty. When it was sunny, she was sunny, all happiness and light. But it was in the darkest part of her soul that she really felt alive, so she longed for the days of the deep fog, where she could linger in that miasma of the unexpected.

If you have a grandmother, she’s probably shown you her spoon collection. You probably pretended to be fascinated. Oh, yes, Grandma, there’s your spoon from a silver mine in South Dakota. That must have been an exciting trip. Yeah, you’re faking it big time.

I have always had problems with numbers, along with a history of failure—as in:  I cannot fail to mention that, despite my brilliance, my SAT math score was well below average.  Can I still remember it?  Does humiliation ever leave us or are we left constantly unmoored?

Spider Ronkowski always had a way with women

Prince Harry, formerly valued member of the British royal family, made the decision to step away from the limelight and live a quiet life of introspection with a wife who equally values privacy and shies away from the press and all publicity.

Wait!  What was that Oprah interview all about? 

“So what I’m telling you now that you’re all here,” the father continued as if no one had spoken, “this is your last chance to get to the house and see if there’s anything you’ve left behind, because I’m selling the place and moving on.”

What’s a mother to do with a son like that?

Okay, let’s face it. Georgie has problems. There’s a duality in his nature that should be examined.

So what’s with Mary and her lamb, you might be wondering.  Was she a  farmer’s daughter and a 4-H member?  You got it in one.

Yeah, we’ve all heard this one before. But does anyone know the true story? Here are the facts:

Let us sing our way into the new year, where a brighter light shines.

What do you owe a father you’ve never known? Julian Billings asks himself that question when he discovers he’s the son of an artist.  Not a famous artist, a mediocre artist on the verge of discovery when the inevitable happens.

Does art imitate life?  Oh, yeah, I know the question should be reversed, but I find events in my life flowing into my—“art?”  Let’s just call it “writings.”

I have many failings as a mother.  Could the worst be my inability to produce a decent dinner?  I’ll let my three kids take a vote on that.  Mealtimes with Mama might come up on top.

Note: I will never say on getting old. Why face the truth?

In my walk around my North Shore neighborhood today, I marveled that in this time of pandemic, when people claim to be suffering from isolation, I noted—once again—that the ability to say hello or even nod when one person passes another, even on the opposite side of the street, seems to be an anathema.

I have a neighbor who obsessively waters his lawn during the summer months.  So obsessively does he manipulate his sprinkler—imagery here?—that his lawn is brown in spots because the grass has turned into a muddy field.

What do people have against shade?  Meaning, what do people have against shade provided by trees?  Meaning, people living on suburban plots of a quarter acre.

I don’t have a romantic nature. I suppose the three best words to describe me would be cynic, pessimist, satirical. I do not swoon.