In Which Your Humble Blogger is just a face in the crowd. Oh, wait, that probably doesn’t have the right connotations at all.
In Which Your Humble Blogger suspects y’all have opinions about this and can tell me how very wrong I am.
In Which Your Humble Blogger sees darkness excelleth light when you want to sleep in a bit, but that light totally excelleth darkness when the kids are heading to school. Don’t forget to turn your clocks back!
In Which Your Humble Blogger makes of a molehill a mountain. A tiny, tiny mountain.
In Which Your Humble Blogger turns, er, returns, or, looks at, focuses on… well, anyway. Kohelet.
In Which Your Humble Blogger has an idea, and you know what that’s worth.
In Which Your Humble Blogger knows an old man named Michael Finnegan, who grew whiskers on his chinnegan.
In Which Your Humble Blogger might have added that it was a perfect Autumn day for a drive through leaves and rolling hills and all that stuff, which may have made a difference as well.
In Which Your Humble Blogger muses over what it all means this year.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is struck by history, all of a sudden.