Reflections of a Freaking Genius

It's not just a hymn anymore.  It's the mantra of the "Passing Lane Squatter".  You've read me long enough to know that I maaaaay have a couple of driving peeves.  "Night Crawlers" are another one of them...you know...those people who insist on driving in the dark and rain without their headlights on. I suppose they don't mind the risk of getting hit head on or sideswiped by innocents merely trying to get to work on time. I have yet to understand the "Passing Lane Squatter".  I mean, the land rush happened in Oklahoma around 100 years ago, and I'm pretty sure I read that it was over at least a couple of months ago.  They plant themselves in the lane like they're staking a claim.  "This is mine and you can't have it" seems to be their attitude. I'm pretty sure my boys got over that at, oh, I don't know...three or four years old.  It's as if that lane is hallowed ground, privileged pavement, or the "na...

It's been 22 years since he left us.  Today would have been his 85th birthday.  It's really hard to imagine Dad at that age.  He was pretty funny at 62.  The sad thing is, without pictures, it's hard for me to picture Dad in my mind at all.  I can't remember what his voice sounded like without digging out an old VHS tape and searching for those rare moments where Dad could be heard speaking in the midst of a family Christmas event, one of the boys' early birthday parties, or some other random event caught, unfortunately not forever, on tape. Memorializing people tends to make them sound better and/or larger than life.  I'm sure that such is my case with Dad from time to time.  We tend to focus on all of the positive things they did...all of the feel good moments for which we hope we're remembered.  Rightfully so.  The positives by far outweighed any negatives in my mind...I know he wasn't perfect...he was terribly human like the rest of us....