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The Harbingers of Change
One of My Stories / September 6, 2016

When the stores said fall was upon us, I didn’t believe them.  Stores put out their “Back-to-School” signage before the summer is half way through.  On the other hand, the calendar’s decree of fall’s arrival comes far too late.  By that time, classes are well-started and my old school has won at least three football games.  No, you can’t predict the seasons by anything man-made.  The long, slow slide away from summer started about 3 weeks ago, according to my early warning portents.  I know when the year starts to turn by the leaves, the nuts and the spiders. A 2 day haul of acorns and pecans.Anyone want to pick up the rest? Some people say they see the signs of fall.  Me, I hear about it first from the trees.  When the leaves are still green and the thermometer hovers above 90, trees signal the change of season with a series of small bombing raids generally known as the falling of nuts.  Phooey.  These nuts don’t fall.  From the sound of them hitting our roof, they are hurled and God help what they hit when they land.  The impacts and ricochets sound like gunfire and the noise initially scares the…

I want a Year in Provence
I know a Good Story / January 2, 2015

Ok it’s January, cold, bleak and raining.   The decorations have been packed away, the weight from party nibbles has been packed on and I’m uncomfortably aware of  the low balance in the checking account and the high one on the credit card.  I don’t want to sound ungrateful after all of these winter festivities but I think I need a vacation.   I want to go someplace warm where life’s pace moves with the seasons and nothing moves too fast.  Someplace where living well is more than the best revenge.  Oh heck, I want A Year in Provence. A Year in Provence is one of those miracles that hit the publishing business about twenty years ago.  Picture this: British author and advertising executive, Peter Mayle, accumulates enough money to retire early and move into an old, stone, farm house in the South of France.  Living there, he finds, is both less relaxing and more fun than he ever anticipated.  He writes an account of the strange and wonderful things he finds there (under the heading of strange include a neighbor who expects him to cook a fox; the expert who teaches him how to handicap a goat race; the winter gales…