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A few years ago, I put my daughter on an airplane to Europe. I didn’t want her to fly, but train travel would have been difficult.
Season’s greetings to you! I mean the flu and cold season, of course. Unlike other seasons, we are advised not to celebrate this one, but to avoid it. That’s why I decided to get a flu shot the other day and skip the flu holidays altogether.
After three decades of being married to the same woman, you would think a guy would have a pretty solid knowledge of that woman’s likes and dislikes. But on Mother’s Day, five years ago, I had an apparent brain cramp.
A friend of mine was driving past a cemetery with his 4-year-old daughter one day and noticed her looking closely at it. “Do you know what that place is?” the dad asked. “Oh sure,” she answered casually. “That’s where the dead guys live.”
I was sitting in the stands a couple of weeks ago when the Huskies football team saw a potential victory evaporate faster than spilled beer on a hot sidewalk – all because of a referee’s call. A fan sitting just behind me meant to shout, “This is an outrage!” But instead, the words came out, “This is bull___!”
Can you spot the sentence that is not contained within our nation’s Declaration of Independence?
Among the sights I have yet to see is that of a protestor marching in front of the corporate headquarters of Raid, carrying a placard that says, “End the killing of spiders, fleas, houseflies, chiggers, mealworms and cockroaches!”
When I was a teenager, I remember watching TV at Dean Cartmill’s house. Dean was my best friend and one of the most even-tempered people around. Nothing seemed to make him angry. But on that particular occasion, Dean’s dad sauntered into the TV room and greeted us with “Hi, girls.” I didn’t think much of it. I figured he was just being funny.
You might have seen the news story last week: A couple of guys from Georgia told people that they had a found the body of a dead Bigfoot – and they were going to show it at a press conference, proving once and for all that such a creature really existed.
The other day, I noticed that the laptop computer I use for writing this column was behaving differently. The words were repetitive and repetitive; the writing had occasional mizpelings — and many of the paragraphs ended in mid-senten.
Ever met one of those people who seemingly can do everything? I know a guy like that.
Fathers Day is coming up this week, and so is my dad’s 85th birthday. I sure wish he were going to be here to celebrate both occasions, but he’s been gone for 20 years.
His race for Dufur public office was not going well. The voters in Dufur (DOO-fur), a small town in Oregon, were leaning to his opponent in overwhelming numbers – or at least as overwhelming as a town of 500 can muster.
Dr. Michael DeBakey, the renowned heart surgeon, received the Congressional Medal of Honor recently. He’s going to be a hundred years old this year, so apparently somebody figured they better get to it.
While out for a jog the other day (a jog that turned into a sprint when a German shepherd came after me), I noticed a “For Lease” sign sitting in the empty window of a failed restaurant. After the dog got distracted and ran after a bicyclist, I strolled back to the restaurant and peered in the window.
I’m planning to write one of those self-help, motivational books one of these days. That is, if I can get up for it. I almost got around to it yesterday, but I got invited to a chili feed at the last moment.
I suppose this is coming a bit late in the game, but I don’t have much going on right now - so I have decided to run for president.