I went to my mother’s over the weekend. There’s something I always forget about staying there: You have to be prepared to sleep with one — maybe two — 80-pound dog. And you don’t know how lovable a Rottweiler is until she wants to snuggle.
Wisdom and whimsy in moderate doses
I went to my mother’s over the weekend. There’s something I always forget about staying there: You have to be prepared to sleep with one — maybe two — 80-pound dog. And you don’t know how lovable a Rottweiler is until she wants to snuggle.
The FBI knocked on my door today. OK, he didn’t so much knock as call and set up an appointment. And even then, he couldn’t get into the building until I let him in. (OK, he was with the FBI. I’m sure he could have gained access to the building if he really wanted to.)… Continue reading There’s a G-man in the dining room
Really. That’s why.
Remember when I confessed to being a nerd? Well, it’s true. Here’s another little hobby: I’ve been researching my family tree. Which is no small feat when your last name is Smith. The project (which I hope to eventually turn into a Web site — you know, when I have time) got a boost when… Continue reading Unearthing family history
Over the weekend, I went with my mother back to north central Missouri to go through more stuff in my grandmother’s house. (This time, no word of warning about gun-cleaning at the hotel. But someone had pulled the battery out and very carefully propped it on top of the smoke detector.) On Saturday, they decided… Continue reading More family squabbling