I had a fleeting thought this morning when I saw at least five cars lined up at the corner of my house with parents and children waiting for the bus to arrive.
I wondered if my parents were throwing caution to the wind by letting me walk the .8 miles to school and .8 miles home from school every day in Orlando when I was 7 years old until I was 12 and moved on to middle school. The answer is no.
Meighan and I took our crazy, energetic, special in more ways than one chocolate lab to the Pensacola Blue Wahoos’ Bark in the Park night last week.
This wasn’t Greyson’s first rodeo at the special event the Double-A affiliate of the Miami Marlins hold once a year, giving canine companions, both large and small, a chance to hang out and watch a baseball game.
I recently made a mistake that was nonetheless correct.
Like some of you, I began typing with the hunt-and-peck method. I was certain that some fiend came in every night and rearranged all the keys.
Classic mystery novels usually open with a set of unexplained occurrences that pique the curiosity of the protagonist.
The clues frequently, but not always, lead to a malicious event that leaves only the disconnected evidence available for identifying the perpetrator.
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