Don’t believe me. Don’t believe the National Weather Service. But come hell or high water (and both are coming!), you better believe the Farmers’ Almanac.
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3/16/23
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In honor of National Reading Day on March 2, I reread Arthur Miller’s “The Crucible.”
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3/9/23
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Born with the teaching gene and not likely to recover any time soon: That is my self-diagnosis.
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3/2/23
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Hey, sweeties,
Can it be that you are now 20, 18, 16 and 14? Do you read the paper?? Are you catching this online?
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2/23/23
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Don’t mess with puppies, George. From what I’ve read and what I’ve heard in statements coming out of your very own mouth . . .
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2/16/23
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These days, when my husband and I share affairs of the heart, there is usually anesthesia and a same-day procedure involved. For us, Valentine’s Day, the fire sale of romantic love, doesn’t speak to a 55-year relationship.
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2/9/23
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You can believe the hype. Last week, a boutique grocery on Manhattan’s Upper East Side was selling eggs for $17.99 a dozen.
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2/2/23
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Who am I? Ask Siri. I don’t know where she ends and I begin.
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1/26/23
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Imagine my surprise when I opened my toaster oven to slide in a meatloaf and found a bunch of classified documents inside.
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1/19/23
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As I look back on my New Years’ columns over these last many years, I might as well have been writing in disappearing ink. Pretty much nothing I expected came to pass . . .
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1/12/23
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