There’s a phenomena in my neighborhood that I just don’t understand. I see it every day driving in and out. People open their garage doors, set a lawn chair just inside the open door, and stare into the street. Are they on patrol? Whatever, I wish they would go inside and seal themselves in like I do. I don’t like a lot of activity near my abode. Perhaps the cold weather will drive them in where they belong.

I get run off the road at least three times a week. When I finally chase the culprits down, without exception, they are all talking on a cell phone.

On a similar but different note, I’m finding it more difficult every day to merge onto the freeway. It seems that people would just as soon run you into the concrete wall or off an embankment rather than let you just get on the road. I’ve noticed that people speed up to 75 or 85 MPH just to make sure you don’t get on in front of them. Because I don’t relish dying in a burning car wreck, I am forced to speed up and get in anyway, only to find that they then back off to their usual 50 MPH after you’ve safely managed to merge. They must be horribly disappointed.

I recently started watching Dog, The Bounty Hunter. I’m absolutely fascinated by it. I’ve always been interested in freak shows and it qualifies. There is so much wrong with this on so many levels.

Grilled cheese sandwiches rock.

My kid got walkie-talkies for Christmas and they have been commandeered by me and my wife. If one of us is upstairs and one is downstairs we usually have to scream to be heard. Even if she’s in the bedroom downstairs and I’m in the living room it used to be a screaming match. Now it’s a thing of beauty.

“Momma Bear, you got your ears on?”

Exasperated: “What now?”

“What’s the status of those cookies I’m waiting for?”

“Shut up, I’m bringing the damned things now.”