The annual Thanksgiving issue.
Last Thursday, my family and I, complete with children and grand mothers, celebrated Thanksgiving. I married into a family that believes Thanksgiving dinner was successful only if the dining table legs threatened to buckle under the weight of the food on the table. This year was no exception.
Over my breakfast egg one morning, I read one of my son’s college application essays that boiled down to a bio-physics angst: “If we’re just clouds of electrons hovering together like so many bees in a swarm, what’s the point of anything?”
Massachusetts high school state soccer tournament. Round of 16. My son’s soccer team, defending state champs, was down 3-1 at the half, having scored only in the last few minutes of the first half.
From the “I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried” department, a voice mail received earlier this month:
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