Dear Mr. President
"I took all the sunshine and rain All my happiness and all my pain The dark evening stars And the morning sky of blue
In Praise of the British Roadster
My dad was not a rich man. His father was an oilfield roughneck who survived the Great Depression and died when daddy was just ten years old. His mom died when he was 20. After that he was completely on his own, living off a meager salary as an elevator operator at the Texas State Capitol building while putting himself through college.
A ruff start
When the pandemic hit, I got really REALLY sick of being stuck in my house. I work from home, my college kids moved home, I couldn't travel, I couldn't do any of the things I love to do -- eat out, visit my mom, act in community theater, sign up for fun runs -- nothing. I was in a rut, and feeling sorry for myself.
Run For Your Life
I'm an old broad, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. Well, I'm not THAT old – barely sixty -- but aging fast (thanks, COVID). And in all honesty, time has not been kind to me. I've never been that pretty, and I have a paunch that refuses to go away (I call it my "bread baby"). I have a decent physique, but some "sculpting," shall we say, is definitely in order.