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.

I was a closet pacifier advocate. So were most of my friends. Unknown to our mothers, we owned thirty or forty of those little suckers that were placed strategically around the house so a cry could be silenced in less than thirty seconds. Even though bottles were boiled, rooms disinfected, and germs fought one on one, no one seemed to care where the pacifier had been.

Giving birth is little more than a set of muscular contractions granting passage of a child. Then the mother is born.

It seemed rather incongruous that in a society of super sophisticated communication, we often suffer from a shortage of listeners.

People usually survive their illnesses, but the paper work eventually does them in. Filing a claim for insurance is terminal.

Before we sent kids to computer camps and told them they were having a good time, there was imagination among the human species.

God created man, but I could do better.