Me: What is the shoebox doing in your floor, Anna? Anna: It’s for the vote. Me: What vote? Anna: For the Secretary and President of Dogs vote. Me: What? I don’t even know what that means. Anna: For the Secretary and President of Dogs vote! Me: You can keep stating it, but I still don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. JT: I don’t think she got a chance to vote. She doesn’t know what you are talking about.

Oh, how I’ve missed her! Today, Anna and I took her on a proper spin for the first time in far too long. All I’m missing is a basket with a stolen pooch, a black, pointy hat, a nasty wart atop my large nose, and a funnel cloud behind me to make the scene complete.

We celebrated Easter at my parent’s home. We began the festivities with a wonderful meal prepared by my mother. As is typical with meals my mother prepares, during it we were subjected to comments from her about how everything tasted merely ok or fell short somehow. And we all finished the bites we were chewing with pleasure and said, “What are you talking about? This is fantastic.” Or, “I love these collards! What’s the recipe?” Or, “The meat is so

I’m no David Blaine, but I can turn this: into this: I know what you’re thinking. EWWWWW! Particularly those fiber nuggets, right? Well, I’ll grant you that I do not eat the fiber stuff because I’m not strong enough to make that happen. But that juice? Here’s a secret. It tastes great! No, really!! And as a migraine sufferer, I drink it as part of my migraine prevention strategy. It seems to help. So to summarize: it tastes really good, helps