Ten years ago my husband Steve and I spent the end of the year with my brother Jason and his wife Laura in Granby, Colorado. We had a great time cross-country skiing, snow shoeing, going for horse-drawn sleigh rides and tubing down the Rockies. But what I remember most is what happened on New Year’s Eve. Continue reading
A million people are expected to spend New Year’s Eve in Times Square to watch the famous ball, crafted out of Waterford Crystal, slowly descend to welcome in 2017. Millions more from around the world will watch the event unfold on their televisions. But New York City isn’t the only place to be that evening. Many cities and small towns in Pennsylvania also have New Year’s Eve celebrations where things are dropped. Weird things. Pennsylvania has taken the art of dropping things, or in some cases, raising things, to a whole new level as the clock strikes midnight on December 31st. Continue reading
Several years ago my husband Steve and I were huddled downstairs during a snow storm the week after Christmas. At some point that evening, we went out to the garage to get more drinks and check the snowfall. I turned on the outside light to see how much snow had already fallen and saw two dogs, a Black Labrador and a Basset Hound, standing in the yard. Continue reading
At first, she denied the dog was hers. But my husband Steve was sure it was her dog because the other Golden Retriever that had been at our house, a young pup, was right there in her yard. She finally admitted that the dog lying in our garage was her dog when Steve told her that the dog had not caused any trouble and we just wanted to help him get home. Showing Steve her arm, which was in a sling, she told him she was not allowed to drive and that her husband wasn’t home. Steve told her that wasn’t a problem, that he’d drive the dog to her house now that he knew whose dog it was. Continue reading
Today I received a text from someone I don’t know. It went like this:
*My daughter’s dog is named Tyler. He can’t shoot guns; his arms are too short.
Our female Saint Bernard, Neva, was a runner. For the first two years of her life, I could only take her outside on a leash because whenever the opportunity to go for a run through the neighborhood arose, Neva took off. I chased her through fields, through the woods, even through a neighbor’s open garage; she went in through the overhead door and out the open man-door that lead to their (thankfully) fenced in back yard. Continue reading