The odds of going to the store for a loaf of bread and coming out with only a loaf of bread are three billion to one.

Grandparenthood is one of life's rewards for surviving your own children.

Hello there. I'm out social climbing, but if you leave your name and number and if you're anybody, I'll get back to you.

I've always been intrigued with the variety of answers this generation will give their children who ask, "Where did I come from, Mommy?" They will range from "Number 176 vial in Buffalo, New York," to "You were defrosted."

I originate from a family where sauce is viewed as a refreshment.

My son would walk to the refrigerator-freezer and fling both doors open and stand there until the hairs in his nose iced up. After surveying $200 worth of food in varying shapes and forms, he would declare loudly, 'There's nothing to eat!'

Seize the moment. Remember all those women on the 'Titanic' who waved off the dessert cart.