It’s the age-old question: Do you tell your mother it was her ex-husband who picked her Christmas tree? On the one hand, she might throw it out. She might burn it, causing a fire that incinerates half the town. On the other hand, it’s delicious information. It might be fun to see her reaction … if used at just the right moment … like when she criticizes me for letting my daughter wear this or that. “Oh yeah!” I could retort. “Well, dad picked your Christmas tree. HA! Your house has ex-husband cooties.”
And then, much thanks was given …
And now the column where much thanks is given for the little things in life: • I’m thankful that my dog can hold her pumpkin. Little pumpkins, left over from Halloween. They were part of a display on the dining room table. A nice, simple Thanksgiving display. Very nice. Then they started disappearing. One by one.
A grand experiment to slow down time
Great men — brilliant men — have often speculated about time machines. Devices that might take us backward or forward to our past or our future. But why hasn’t anyone explored the idea of a time-slowing machine? This occurred to me the other day after walking my daughter to school. As I strolled back carrying her scooter, I marveled at the Christmas blowup toys in someone’s front yard. “Already out!?!” I thought. “How can this be? It’s too early.” But it isn’t. Thanksgiving is almost here, and that means we’re locked and loaded, buckled up and bundled in with a heavy foot on the gas, headed for Christmas.
Coughing fits, like the crackle of thunder
Why is it whenever you’re hacking. When you have tissue stuffed up your nose. When there are noises emanating from your lungs that sound like tree branches snapping. Like thunder crackling. Like little mice being squeezed. Why is it whenever you’re in this state, people always stare you right in the eyes and ask, “Are you sick?” Oh, no. I’m fine, thank you. I always sound like this. Then I sneeze on their head. Right on their head!