My paternal grandmother was a really funny woman. Funny ha-ha as well as funny strange. It is therefore no surprise that I turned out the way I did. She was the daughter of a fire chief. One of the earliest stories I remember being told is of my grandmother, decked out in her finery (she was going to a fancy event), sliding down the brass pole in the fire station. Rather daring under normal circumstances for a young lady in the early 1930’s, bordering on plain-dumb-stupid when your father ...

Welcome! I'm a thirty-something (how the hell did I get this old?) former know-it-all (when did the world and everything in it move at such lightning speed to leave me behind with my limited knowledge?) who once loved the soap box. These days I pick my battles a little more carefully, although, admittedly, I have my good days and my not-so-good days when reason packs up its assorted stuff and says "I'm outta here - she can carry on alone." These are the collective ramblings of the frightf...