Thoughts In Anticipation of the Arrival of Guests

Hardwood floors are just so great. No matter how much you sweep and vacuum and push your swiffer around and around, there is always a little bit of detritus left. It is there to keep you humble.

Gifts From My Mother

Last night at a dinner party the story was told of a 3rd grade parent conference at which the teacher said, in front of the child, "I've given up on him." This appalling remark reminded me of a similar, but opposite incident in my own life. When I was in the 2nd grade I accompanied my parents to the conference where I heard my teacher say something like, Paul is a smart little boy, but he doesn't work very hard. I repeat this with the observation that 54 years of mediocre performance since that time have not been enough to disabuse me of the idea that I am OK. Shame on the other teacher who disparaged her pupil. But perhaps my open house experience was not as influential as I suppose.

A few years ago when my father passed and we sold our family home, I retrieved a large box of items accumulated there during my years of growing up. Included therein was an autograph book that had been given to me by my cousin when I was in about the fifth grade. I had taken it around and got a certain number of the people in my life, mostly my classmates, to write something. Typical was the one from Lloyd Hannon, to wit, "Roses are red. Violets are blue. Monkeys like you belong in the zoo." But there on about page 12 was an entry from my mother.

I have praised my mother's cooking from time to time over the years, pointing out the truly great value of growing up at a table that did not create unrealistic culinary expectations for later in life. In fact my mother was such a cook that when I got to places like college and the army, I just couldn't understand why the other guys were bitching about he food. It didn't seem that bad to me.

What my mother, who read Mary Baker Eddy, but never a page of Dr. Spock, wrote in my autograph book was, "I'm so happy to have a boy who is so good and kind to everyone. Always remember 'God is love' and you are his reflection".

Perhaps in addition to a palate trained to not expect too much, it was my mother who gave me the gift of a resolute, if illogical, sense of self worth.

Keeping Up In The Race To The Gutter

The genteel reader may wish to skip this post.


A letter to the editor

Dear Editor:

In the June 22 issue of Newsweek I came upon an acronym which was unfamiliar to me. Suspecting my ignorance was age related I emailed a couple of younger friends. When they explained what MILF means I CFB it.

Paul Gibson



For the uninitiated MILF apparently means, "mother I’d like to fuck." It's a compliment.