You can have golf. I’ll trade you golf and opera. I’ll keep billiards and tobogganing.
“I am looped in the loops of her hair,” as Yeats put it a trillion years ago.
There’s this terrific new device for filling water balloons. Must’ve been invented by a dairy farmer inspired by multiple teats.
More and more, I tell friends, “Aren’t you glad you grew up when we did – the movies, the music, the cheap six-packs?”
Things have gotten so bad around our house, God is saying prayers for us.
We may as well be in the Hamptons with Scott and Zelda. By the way, what’s summer without a nymph or two?
In the museum of the mind: Tommy Lasorda trotting out to the mound to berate a pitcher. In the museum of the heart: Gibby’s home run lap.
“Put your lips to the world, and live your life,” in the words of poet Mary Oliver.
Rapunzel returned from her bachelorette party hoarse and horsey. Sine voce, as the Romans would describe it. She also seemed sensitive to bright lights. Is that a hangover?