Thanks to Mom and the ritual of bedtime storytelling, one of my earliest recollections is drifting off to sleep hearing “Charlotte’s Web” read aloud, chapter by chapter, and the building excitement anticipating how the story might unfold.
In My Humble Opinion
That question, famously asked in the 1975 Broadway musical “A Chorus Line” often haunts me. “Am I my resumé? That is a picture of a person I don’t know.” I think that most of us, from time to time, experience an identity crisis of one sort or another, often brought on by having to play a variety of roles in life.
Well, it was anyhow. At the moment, it’s raining cats and dogs and what’s left of fall foliage is, well… falling. I did, however, spend the last week meandering through the mountains in search of leaf-peeping photo-ops and scored big time, although the explosions of color were at times difficult to find.
Such simple words that cost us nothing to say, and yet, they seem to be vanishing from our collective vocabulary. It’s not often that I use this column to rant, but every once in a while I do take advantage of the space the fine folks at The River Reporter grant me to discuss something other than puppet shows and bake sales.
Autumn is an ideal time for family get-togethers, apple picking and all things fall. There were plenty of family affairs going on throughout the Upper Delaware River region over the last few days, and as I leashed the pup and meandered the countryside in search of fall foliage to photograph, I managed to soak up some local flavor along the way.
I’m feeling conflicted. On one hand, I love this time of year and the multitude of harvest festivals, hay rides and haunted houses celebrating the bounty of life-in-the-country good times. On the other hand, I’m dreading winter, knowing there will be days of feeling isolated and cut off from the outside world.
The term “déjà vu” is French and literally means “already seen.” Those who have experienced the feeling (up to 70% of the population) describe it as “an overwhelming sense of familiarity” and (according to www.howstuffworks.com), the phenomenon is “rather complex.” Swiss scholar Arthur Funkhouser sugges
I’m absolutely positive that Arthur Fletcher did not have me in mind when he coined that phrase while serving as head of the United Negro College Fund in 1973, but that is approximately the same time that my mind became mush.
The past few days have been thought provoking, to say the least. Multiple visits to the doctor for both me and the Wonder Dog were on the docket, and while I’m all for conventional medicine, a part of me also believes that “alternative” forms of treatment might be just as beneficial. And then there are days when I’m not sure what I believe.
Believe me, I’m in no rush to see summer end—but fall is coming, whether I like it or not. Officially, it ain’t over till the fat lady sings, and that won’t occur until the 22nd of this month, but we all know that Labor Day is the beginning (insert frownie-face emoji here) of the end.