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Opinions

Morels, morals, and asparagus

Food for Thought

At this time of year, we often see people patrolling the ditches along highways and county roads. They are not picking up trash or searching for returnable aluminum cans. They are hunting for mushrooms and asparagus, but they prefer that you think they’re just taking a pleasant stroll in the country. As your car approaches, they look up and surreptitiously drop that plastic bag into the grass at their feet– often pretending to watch a meadowlark on a nearby fence post, or count the new calves in a pasture.

Bullies I’ve known

Walkin'

Until third grade, I had the protection of my older brothers from bullies. In 1960, however, they were both off to junior high and I walked the 1.8 miles to Jonas Salk Elementary School alone.

The inevitable has happened

Food for Thought

I knew that, sooner or later, I’d have to consider myself a member of that group known as “little old ladies.” Somehow, I had convinced myself that that time lay well in the future. No matter what my age or condition, I always felt there was still plenty of time before I had to consider myself part of that category. It just wasn’t going to happen– not while I still felt pretty much the same as I did last year, and the year before that, and...

Fingerhakeln

Walkin'

Stumbling across a “Fingerhakeln Meisterschaftsbankett” is one of my favorite finds while traveling.

Just wondering

Food for Thought

It’s been 10 or more years since I heard anything about the results of a discovery involving the gene responsible for speech in humans. It seems that gene involved the fine control of the organs and muscles that made it possible for humans to develop, in a period involving about 100 generations, a workable spoken language. At the time this discovery was announced, scientists were anticipating some experiments that seemed rather far out to me. For one thing, they were hoping to implant the gene in laboratory mice.

Surprises

Walkin'

Life has been full of surprises lately.
Like the other day when Sabra beckoned with a come-hither voice from the bedroom, “will you please come here?”
It was quite the surprise. After 14 years of marriage, she calls me to the back yard to rake leaves, to the basement to lift salt into the water conditioner or to the kitchen to unfreeze her computer. Calls to the boudoir are mostly distant memories along with a 38-inch waist size and hair on my head in places other than eyebrows and ears.