I suppose most people have a story about something that happened at the fair. Usually it has to do with the consequences of eating too much fried dough and then riding something called “The Scrambler.”
Anyone who has watched puppies tussle on the lawn or kids building a fort out of couch cushions has witnessed one function of fun.
Plato’s utopia was ruled by philosopher kings. We could do worse. In fact, with the current state of politics, it might behoove us to require a philosophy degree for anyone seeking high office.
My first journalism job in New Hampshire (about a quarter century ago) was as editor of a little weekly paper called The Bow Times.
I was a newlywed at the time, so my romantic instincts were perhaps a little addled, but to me it sure seemed like a great valentine’s day gift when I bought my wife a star from the international star registry.
Is it just me or does it seem like there’s an ever-growing list of topics you can’t discuss without people withdrawing from one another into opposing camps? Differences are good, but like a bottle of salad dressing, it’s better when you shake things up.
There’s one thing certain about the Christmas season: it’s a time that we go all out.
Some people are tone deaf. Others are color blind. I suffer from a more serious malady.