Well into the wee hours, I watched, captive to fire flying through the sky. Meteors. Perseid meteors.

 Perhaps we haven’t paid attention before? It’s time we do.

Just wait a minute, I thought

What my four-year-old uncle did is what young children do without hearing it—

Here's the reason I am writing about this trip. On Wednesday, July 17, 1957, I bought a Hawaiian Holoku dress.

Biology Talk uses words and diagrams. I sort of understand.

“Stand here. Watch this,” said Drake to hen. “I’ll quack (taking the initiative), and she will toss us some mixed grains.”

SCOOTER! MOVE YOUR FOOT!

It’s all good here at the Pine house. Cookies are baked, Christmas tins are arranged by the door, most “must do” stuff is done, and Mannheim Steamroller holiday music accompanies my desk work. THEN . . .

If what I read is right, this celebration seems not so suitable for children. Worse for sleep than the candies consumed by modern Trick-Or-Treaters. I mean, think about it.

We are in the week when Earth blunders its way through a cloud of meteor debris the Comet Swift-Tuttle scatters from its tail during its annual orbit of the sun.

But that was a long time ago, and no one was taking notes, so who knows who was first to wiggle opposable thumbs.

In the spring of the year, the time when kings go out to battle. . .

Like many people, I am a crow fan.

I’m not sure how to respond to having just watched the movie “Everything, Everywhere, All At Once.”

One second! That’s all it took. POW!  One second, plus perhaps a zeptosecond or two . . .

I thrust my hand out as a warning. Palm forward. I was serious. “I am in a good mood,” I said, “don’t mess me up.”

Here then, my revisionist’s view of Christmas 2022

It is so like us, we humans.

When we discover that we can do something, like make atomic bombs, combustible engines, angel-food cake, a ghastly scene, plastic, DDT, great music, or in this case, sheet glass; we are simply apt to do it.