My father would have been 90 years old this month. Ninety. I look at the number as if it were a foreign word.
It's here at last. A couple of times I've recommended a "summer hour," which involves dedicating one hour every day to something summery, which might mean nothing more ambitious than sitting outside with a book.
Maya Angelou was a quotable-quote factory.
I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I apologize. You, too, have probably felt the dismay of discovering you've slighted someone without knowing it. This happened to me -- not for the first time -- recently. He'd responded, he said.
This month delivered a tale of two investigations.