Some finer day

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If one thing binds us, it’s that we anticipate outcomes—the stability of a relationship, gaining a promotion, reaching a level of financial independence, seeing our children succeed, securing a comfortable retirement. We are raised from childhood to anticipate the future.

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What’s Next?

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“The story continues, but we’re no longer the main characters.”

It’s a line from a novel. But its truth speaks to us—to our retirement from work, to our exit from the stage, to next things.

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Gift from a Goddess

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In my Truro homeowners’ association, a fifty-mile drive from mainland Massachusetts, I am alone all winter. The sole year-round resident. Mine is the single house for miles with lights lighted. But I am far from lonely, because the dour goddess who is Cape Cod makes amends with a gift.

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A Pooh Breakfast

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“So familiar are eggs to us that in the eighteenth century they were referred to as cackling farts, on the basis that chickens cackled all the time and eggs came out of the back of them.”

Mark Forsyth

The Horologicon:

A Day's Jaunt Through the Lost Words of the English Language

 

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How to Author Your Life

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By this sixth day of 2018, you’re undoubtedly on your way to proving the axiom that New Year’s resolutions unfailingly fail.

I’ve discovered a Rutgers University professor of philosophy who has an intriguing explanation of the reason, and what to do about it.

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Lobster Holocaust

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In British Commonwealth countries, Boxing Day is what you make of it, from retail sales to polar swimming to sports competitions.

Our family tradition was molded back in 1988 with two-pound lobsters and too, too many vodka shooters. (That’s my late wife hoisting the Absolut and listing to starboard in the photo above.)

We had so much fun that day that we pledged to commemorate it annually. Ever since then our little nuclear family has tried to always be together on Boxing Day. With Jo Anne’s passing, we still gather over steamed lobsters to toast her memory with too, too many vodka shooters—just as she would want us to.

This year was no exception, except . . .

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When a Good Dog Dies

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In the early hours of Monday, December 18, Alex Dog Schmitt died of complications from a brain tumor. He had lived with my daughter, Wendy, and her three sons to the ripe old age of ten years, well beyond the seven-year life expectancy of the Boxer breed.

In his death, he taught all of us something.

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Being Daddy

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The Christmas season is upon us, with its numerous Nativity images of the holy family: Mary, the newborn Jesus, and his earthly father, Joseph. And I am thinking . . .  

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How You Can Shape Tomorrow

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One of the sales rallies I wrote for IBM many years ago had as its theme “The Power of One.”

At the time, I had no idea what that meant. So I wrote the usual corporate fluff.

But now I understand the power of one. It comes down to this  . . .

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Breaking News!

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This just in . . .

My new book did not make the “100 Notable Books of 2017” list that will be published tomorrow in The New York Times.

In a way, I’m glad. Because some of the non-fiction books that made the list leave me scratching my head.

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