There Must Be Something To Think About

I Write For What's Left Of The Eight-year-old Still Rattling Around Inside My Head

There Must Be Something To Think About At The End.

The Dick, Jane, And Spot Primers Have Gone To That Bookshelf In The Sky. I Have, In Some Ways, A Tender Feeling Toward Them, So I Think It's For The Best.

At One Time, Most Of My Friends Could Hear The Bell, But As Years Passed, It Fell Silent For All Of Them. Even Sarah Found One Christmas That She Could No Longer Hear Its Sweet Sound. Though I've Grown Old, The Bell Still Rings For Me, As It Does For All Who Truly Believe.

Your House Is All About Routine, Not The Unexpected Events Of Your Life.