By DAVID GREEN
Let’s review things before we close it up for the year. See if you were paying attention through the previous 52 weeks.
I wrote about an imaginary dog that would be named Fatty Skylark in honor of a cousin.
I looked around my body to read the story that my scars tell.
I considered the benefits of buying one of the dog bark translators created by Csaba Molnar—and decided I didn’t want to know what they’re trying to tell me.
I considered the contents of my peanut butter jar—up to 30 insect fragments per 100 grams, not to mention rodent feces.
I rediscovered Bag Balm at two stores in Fayette and decided I wasn’t too impressed with the smell.
I listened to a radio program that transported me back to the youth hostel at Cape Tormentine and made me wonder what has become of Lily Eng.
I learned that some people are willing to pay more for a used item on eBay than a new item at a store.
I considered obsolete items and skills (changing a typewriter ribbon) and wonder why people still tell you to dial a phone number.
I watched the excellent movie “Into the Wild” and thought about my own forays into less-settled territory. Unlike the guy in the movie, I came back home.
I read about the fancy new toys and devices for babies and young children and read a mother’s words: They don’t need all that stuff; what they really need is us, the parents.
I read the irony of a long life: He who dies last has the fewest friends.
I was chosen to receive a Distinguished Alumni award and managed to turn it into Distinguished Clown.
I read about the characteristics supposedly associated with a particular Zip Code and I managed to anger at least one Lyons resident. Honest, it wasn’t serious.
Similarly, I read about general personality traits associated with geography and welcomed readers to the land of conscientious with a touch of neuroticism.
I contemplated by daughters summer class studying rocks in the Rockies and wondered why I—a person actually interested in rocks—had to stay behind.
I developed an interest in pilot car drivers after hearing stories from one at an Interstate rest stop.
I made my final trip to Berea College, Ky., where students are urged to “drink from the diversity.”
I contemplated the noises in the walls of my house and still wonder if it’s only a bat or two.
I thought of a way for an American wife to get the typical American man to clean the house: Bring in the leaf-blower.
I wrote about Wasilla, Alaska, several weeks before the name Sarah Palin became a household name. The current mayor was angry about cheeseburgers.
With a daughter’s wedding behind me and my son’s soon approaching, I thought back to the oddities of my own wedding. I also wondered if a photo would be taken of the father of the groom dancing with his son. (There wasn’t one. It didn’t happen).
I rediscovered a stack of phonograph albums and considered dusting off the turntable to hear those voices from the past.
I had an encounter with John Hanawalt that brought to mind roadkill of the past, back in the days of working at Morenci Rubber Products.
I attended the 150th anniversary meal at the Congregational Church and encountered faces from the past.
I read about 100 things to eat before you die and learn that picky eaters are considered an evolutionary dead end.
I remember picking fleas off the belly of my sister’s childhood dog, Sam, and I learn that dog fleas jump farther than cat fleas.
I try to survive until Halloween without the heat turned on (it was my wife’s idea) during an extra cold late October.
I learn that your gut bacteria would probably be delighted if you ate some squirrel.
I need to write a reminder: Take wife to a basketball game so she can show the crowd that she’s Queen of the Stairs.
I dared call Tom Saylor “just a football coach” and angered some people who knew otherwise.
That’s it. That’s what I’ve done. And now it’s time for another Year of Writing Foolishly.