I don’t know who was responsible for the dictum we followed in my family along about the time I was in high school, but it read: You do not eat anything you have named.
There is no telling how something that has always seemed commonplace can suddenly assume importance.
You never can tell what children are going to say and my nephew proved that one day in his first-grade classroom. The children had been going to the blackboard to write their names, and when it came to Tom, my brother’s boy, he could not do it. The teacher gave hints, which did not work, so finally the teacher wrote on the blackboard, “Tom cannot write his name.”
When my husband died, it was completely unexpected, though it left me with certain impressions that I carry to this day.
In some places it has become a moment to moment check-up on what is the most recent mode to go under water. I remember one flood we had.
Sometimes the line between species get a little blurred.
Have you ever had the feeling, “I have just made history?”
What would your guess to be the most unfailing topic of conversation? It’s something we are all subject to and have to live with: The weather.
(The following was “written” by Katie, my friend Marsha’s dog.)
I think the first reliable sign of spring arrives in the mail sometime in January. These are the flamboyant seed catalogs.
Out of the group of songs that sprang from what is called the great migration of the mid-19th century was one called, “Sweet Betsy from Pike.”
For some years I have wonder why we no longer say “thee” and “thou” and the other day I found the answer, of all places, on the Internet.
There is a saying, probably several centuries old, “hell hath no fury greater than a woman scorned.”
We have said before that change is constant and certainly in our lifetimes we have seen prime examples of this.
One of my late husband Glen’s favorite places to roam around by car was an area known as the South Half, a large area across the Okanogan River on the Colville Indian Reservation occupied largely by ranches.