Dear Tommy: I know you always wondered what would happen to your collections – those stamps and pennies you spent so much time with down in the damp basement as you organized them at that little beat-up oak roll-top desk with the black ring of fountain-pen ink you spilled on its top.
Sometimes a day doesn’t turn out the way you hoped it would.
If you see me driving down the street, you’ll recognize my car right away. Mine is the one with nothing pasted, bolted or magnetized to it to proclaim my agenda to the world.
The sea ice on the western shore of Canada’s Hudson Bay breaks up every summer, as it has done for millennia, forcing polar bears to swim for land.
By all rights, Groundhog Day should fall in early November, and it should only last an hour.
Several years ago, when I coached high school varsity girls’ soccer, one of my players was caught at a police-raided party where alcohol was present. Because the school had a zero-tolerance policy regarding alcohol, Nancy G faced both academic and athletic punishments that included missing one-third of her senior soccer season.
“How do you know where to turn?” Dave asked.