You’d think I’d learn. After the Christmas Day massacre in Scrabble from my 8-year-old grandson, I have no idea what possessed me to go up against him in the video game version of “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?”They say “Ignorance of the Law” is no excuse; I guess in my case “Ignorance is the ONLY excuse.”

Mom and I went to San Antonio this past weekend to celebrate Hunter’s ninth birthday and he pulled out this game and I thought, “I’m not real smart, but he’s only in the third grade – how bad can it get?” I have underestimated that kid ever since he was born. He went first, selecting a third-grade geography question that asked him which continent the Nile River was on. It gave him three possible choices and he hemmed and hawed before finally selecting “AFRICA!” with a triumphant shout.

Jeff Foxworthy appeared to tell me it was my turn next so I selected fourth-grade history. My question was “During the French and Indian War, who was the primary enemy of France?”...

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I had Hunter for a week over the Christmas holidays. His mom doesn’t like for him to watch a lot of television so this meant I had to find alternative methods of entertainment. We watched a few (mom approved) movies and he’d brought a few toys with him but by the middle of the week I could sense a little boredom beginning to creep in and I thought, “Oh no no no! This cannot happen at MawMaw’s house,” so without giving it the thought process it was due, I said, “Hey Hunter, you’ve WAY outgrown Candyland – wanna learn how to play Scrabble?” and of course he said, “Sure.”

Mother and I play this game four or five nights a week, so I wasn’t particularly worried about pitting my skills up against an 8-year-old third-grader. I neglected to factor in that this particular third-grader had started reading his mother’s Harry Potter books while still in kindergarten (a serious miscalculation on my part).

I explained the game to him and he seemed to catch on so we began our play. He ...

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I’m such a dork. Somehow the Snuggie has replaced the much maligned fruitcake as the Christmas gift of scorn and derision this Christmas season of 2009. 

The fact that I gave Snuggies as gifts is not what makes me a dork; the fact that the Snuggie I received is my favorite gift – now THAT’S what pretty much guarantees me “dork bragging rights.” Consider also that I wear my Snuggie while eating stale, leftover fruitcake and I’m sure you’ll agree this cements my place in the mystical world of “dork stratosphere.” 

  I guess you can call me the High Priestess of Low Class in my holiday trappings. While others wear satin and velvet, I never feel more alive than when I’m floating from room to room in my cloud of blue fleece. Though others may choose creme brulet or fancy hand filled tarts for dessert, I’m satisfied with store bought fruitcake or week old snickerdoodles. 

  The really cool part of this Snuggie Christmas is the fact that my little...

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Most folks seem to think that kids are growing up too fast these days what with the use of modern technology. It seems that toys have gotten so advanced that children don’t have to use their imaginations much. A click of a button can cause something to move, appear on a screen or evolve into a totally different object.

I’ve read articles about the damage this is doing to our children’s future ability to invent and create since they’ll have no ability to see things in their heads. But I learned last Christmas when I was in San Antonio at my daughter’s house that technology isn’t all bad when we pulled out the computer and logged on to Santa tracker.com to keep up with St. Nick’s night around the world.

  I had no idea this journey was available for boys and girls to watch, but Hunter’s daddy knows all about computers so he knew just where to go to find it. Earlier in the evening we’d been at my house in Orange having Christmas with my mom, so we didn’t arrive back i...

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Whether it’s Walmart, a trip to see the kids or just an afternoon walk – I never go anywhere that I’m not taking mental notes for a possible future column. And so I entered my 35th high school class reunion with my mental pencil ready for jotting down memorable tidbits. 

I didn’t have to look far for a story. It (she) was waiting in the entrance as soon as I arrived. I had expected not to recognize everybody at this shindig; it had, after all, been 35 years and time can do some “rearranging.” But as we neared the door I saw this lady who didn’t look a day over 22 and I asked Ruthie, the classmate I’d ridden to the reunion with, “Who’s that?” I needed to know whether I was supposed to go hug her and graciously tell her how great she looked while simultaneously offering how “good” it was to see her.

(While of course, it was NOT – no one wants to see anyone who has defied the laws of nature like this gal obviously had.) I mean, I’m not evil, I like to see my friends do...

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