Two years ago today, I stood at the base of Freedom Tower in New York. I looked up – way up – to locate the top of the tower’s 1,776 feet. I couldn’t totally tell where One World Trade Center ends and the sky begins. But I remember fighting off vertigo and noting the metaphor:
Dear February, We’d like to skip right past you, please. Why are you even on our new calendars? All you do is drag us into the past. Last Christmas’s credit card bills linger. Last year’s tax statements arrive. Last month’s New Year’s resolutions break. To be honest, we do a little bit, too. You’re a
I didn’t love much about my maiden name of Huth. Americanized from the guttural, German “Hütt,” it was mispronounced in classroom roll calls and corporate phone calls. But it did give me the best nickname in the history of softball. Babe Huth. I know. It almost makes me sorry for every other player who has
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