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.

I never leaf through a copy of National Geographic without realizing how lucky we are to live in a society where it is traditional to wear clothes.

Early in my life I had made a pact with myself. I would never eat anything that moved when I cooked it, excited the dog, or inflated upon impact with my teeth.

It is difficult to single out one sport over another, but if I have to name one in my separation suit, it will undoubtedly be football.

If Life is a Bowl of Cherries, What Am I Doing in the Pits?

Remember, you can lead a fifty-seven-year-old body to motherhood, but you can't make it stay awake.

I hated skiing or any other sport where there was an ambulance waiting at the bottom of the hill.