It is Holy Week and that means it is way past time for me to have my yearly Easter treat — Cadbury Creme Eggs. Though I have, on occasion, been known to eat WAY too many of them, I generally just have one a year. Really, one is quite enough.
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I’ve written in the past about my flailing attempts at home do-it-yourself projects, some of which have been highly successful, while others fell far short of expectations. But regardless of the quality of the end product, I find they generally follow three rules: A given project will be twice as expensive, take three times as long and look 10 times worse than it does in your head.
As you get older, birthdays seem to lose the excitement they once held. What once was a day for partying and presents now feels like any other — except for the cake. That part never changes.
I’ve always been independent, but the last bit of financial support from my family disappeared after graduating in May. The reality of adulthood hit hard with a long list of things to do — alone. Finding a place to live, a full-time job and the general responsibilities of being a post-grad seemed daunting at first but thankfully, I found myself in the clear just a month later.
This past weekend was my dear mother’s birthday, so once again I braved the trip to Houston. These weekends are never relaxing for me. Usually we like to go play, and in this case, we actually went to see a play at Houston’s Hobby Center.
Sometimes in life things just happen and then they turn out to have been for the best. I think that is true anyway, and the story I am about to tell seems to bear it out. This past weekend I was dealing with a back problem.
I have not been shy in the past about using this space to articulate musings on baseball, which is, axiomatically, the best sport. (Sport power rankings: 1. Baseball; 2. Football; 3. Hockey; 4. Soccer; 5 All other sports; 195. Basketball)
I’ve never just been “a day late and a dollar short.” I’ve always been decades late and a truck load of money short, and not just short of money, but of good ideas. Take critter clothing, for instance.
With just about a week to go until April, otherwise known as National Poetry Month, I confess I am getting a little worried. In the past few years, it has been the Herald Democrat’s practice to yield our Good Morning space to poets during the Month of April. The practice lets our readers share some of their talent with words and it gives our Good Morning writers a month long rest to recharge their batteries. We will run the poems that are printed in both our print and online publications. Those who have a photo they would like to submit with their poem may do so for the online edition.
My acting history is sparse. In high school I auditioned for my school’s production of “South Pacific” and did not make the cut (no, I’m definitely NOT still bitter about that …).