The Bucket List. These days everyone has one….or sung about one …or watched a movie about one. I don’t so much have a Bucket List as an Anti-Bucket List. There are the things I’ve decided I never ever have to do again – and you can’t make me.
I have the opportunity to sit in real estate continuing education classes and the message to the Realtors seems to be the same in all of them: Newspapers are dead. Period.
Case in point: One Realtor instructor told us how he, at the behest of his Seller, placed a one inch classified ad for an open house in the Star Tribune…and he got NO visitors to his open house. Conclusion: That was a waste of his money and newspapers don’t work. Everyone in the class nodded appropriately – I cringed.
I know I did it to my kids…and now I’m watching my daughter do it to hers. Those little white lies that don’t really seem to harm anything. I suppose we could get into an ethical debate about whether lying is ever acceptable, but sometimes the things I would tell my kids would cause hours of endless amusement – at least for me. The lifelong damage I did to them is fair game for what my parents (and grand parents) did to me. Pay it forward, right?
My folks are great and they’ve reached that charming age when pretty much everything they say is funny - and they don’t even realize it.
Recently my daughter got married. It was a quiet affair with only close family members in attendance. They picked a Japanese steakhouse where we would go to for small celebratory dinner. And that is when the fun began.
I have some enterprising young folks in my neighborhood as evidenced by the flyer that I recently found marketing their services. Snow shoveling. Great plan! Where were you guys this summer when my lawn was growing like it was in a race with the trees. I hate shoveling snow, so immediately you have my attention.
I don’t get too worked up about strange noises. Like the guys on Ghost Hunters, one can typically find a rational explanation for just about everything. Well, tell that to the pterodactyl in my hallway last night.
Probably for the same reason every other critter in the county crosses them. Over the past week I've seen no fewer than 3 dead skunks on the road I drive to work. Although I feel bad for the dead animals, I've always wondered how, exactly, does one manage to hit a skunk?
Someone recently said the following to me with a straight face: "You know you're getting old when all your friends start having babies on purpose". Ah youth.... It is an interesting perspective - one I used to share...but that was oh so long ago and it got me thinking....what constitutes getting old?
You know you're getting old when your favorite song in high school is played on the radio as a Golden Oldie.
It's an annual event here in the land of 10,000 lakes. We complain non-stop about the cold weather all winter long. Those subzero temps that defy logic and mounds of snow beside frozen lakes. Anyone care to lick a piece of metal? Oh how we miss the warmth of summer and wouldn't it be nice to wear shorts and flip flops again. The longer I live here, the more I'm convinced is that the answer is that we really don't want to thaw out. Ever.
And why wouldn't I? She's AWESOME! Dogs like this aren't going to be found in any puppy mill or behind the glass box of a pet store. She doesn't have fancy papers or a snooty name. I found her at H.A.R.T.