The first thing I want to know when I get my morning New York Times is who died. I go straight to the obituaries. It’s where I meet some of my favorite people — ones I never knew about, like an inventor of Twister.
His obit appeared on Friday. The following day another fascinating one appeared. It was about the man who unleashed a nation of professional dog walkers.
When I was told I could not go out in the sun this year, I had to renegotiate my summer contract
Henry James described “summer afternoon” as “the two most beautiful words in the English language.” Many people would agree with him, me included.
But like most boomers I’ve had to change my relationship with summer. It’s still beautiful, but in different, more interesting ways.
If you drive down my shady, tree-lined street in Richfield, Minn., you might think you’ve been transported back in time. The houses look exactly the same as when they were built just after World War II. No one has added on to them, or replaced them with McMansions that take up entire lots. One of my neighbors has a 1952 Lincoln coupe with shiny chrome bumpers parked out front.