When our kids were younger, we used to play a memory game in the car to occupy their time. We’d start out by saying, “In my grandmother’s attic I found …” then each person would go around thinking of something new, in alphabetical order, repeating all the previous items. You’ve probably played versions of it yourself. It’s silly, but it went something like, “In my grandmother’s attic I found; an Arthur, a bongo board, chopsticks, a Democratic canvasser, etc.”
Strangely enough, all those things have actually been found in my grandmother’s attic. Though to be fair, it wasn’t an attic per say, but a cupboard or closet of her senior living facility out in Arizona.
I could feel it sneaking up on me.
On days like today, too, where it’s 17 o’clock in the afternoon, the sun cashes in its chips and heads south early, as if there’s something even he or she would rather be doing than warding off the darkness. October fades to winter and we here in the North can’t do a darn thing about it.
I’ve heard about this happening, but it’s always been to other people, not me. My brothers have talked about it; my cousins have experienced it. Heck, I first heard about it from my father, of all the awkward ways to learn about something like this.
But I’m turning 50, and like every other guy out there (and yes, women too) it’s just a natural inevitability. Read More
Don’t get me wrong; it’s not like I mind watching women in bikinis rolling around in the sand. But it seems as though there’s so much more to see during these Olympics. Yes, I realize this is the XXX Olympiad, but that’s probably not why we’re tuning in.