You write about science for 30 years
and what do you get?

A chance to freelance
for the Washington Post (70+ times)
and other newspapers and magazines
on Burning Issues
like the right way to eat corn on the cob,
finding happiness on the prune juice trail,
and questing for the perfect
crummy but good restaurant.

Newest Burning Issues

Playing The Goofy Factor

Goofy Brings Grandpaw and Grandson Closer. Really.

“We have a problem here,” Elijah said. The note of concern in his four-year-old voice made me laugh, made me cry. Maybe this time I had gone too far. Maybe he really thought his Grandpaw was hopelessly goofy.

To goof or not to goof, that is the question for every grandparent, or at least for we who take our duties of grandfatherly teasing, teaching and goofing seriously. Who better to bring adulterated silliness to grandchildren than grandfathers?

But there is the constant worry of going too far. The worry of becoming permanently classified as downright weird.

What if grandchildren keep track of our goofiness? What if grandchildren have the same scary power as our grade school teachers to put comments into our permanent records?

What if Elijah has already written down, “Paw can tie his shoes now, but still can’t be trusted on an elevator.”

Because four-year-old Elijah does not allow me on an elevator by myself.

For More on the Dangers and Rewards of Grandfatherly Goofiness, Do That Click Thing Here.

Finally, The Bra Talk

Support My Bra Story! Imagine Your Favorite Bra Picture Here!

One of those special mother-son moments. After 70 years, Mom and I finally had the bra talk.

Mom is 90 and the arthritis in her hands has gotten so bad she has stopped baking apple pies. She can’t peel apples herself anymore, and refuses to bake pies with apples peeled by strangers. This is well-placed pride, since her apple pies were famous and often used to bribe work crews. Her pies put gravel in her driveway and a private street light in her yard.

This morning, Mom said her hands were so bad that she had trouble putting on her bra. “It got all twisted up. I just may start going bra-less.”

In the nearly 70 years I have known this proud woman, she has never once threatened to go bra-less. In fact, I don’t think she ever said the word “bra” out loud to me before, let alone discussed the difficulties of putting one on.

I suggested that what might have been even more useful to me, at least in my earlier lustier years, was an explanation of how to take one off. All those traumatic fumbling moments of my youth that might have been avoided by a little mother-son bra instruction.

Mom ignored me. Lust was not encouraged, even after 50 years of fumbling hindsight.

Are You Ready To Hear the Rest of the Bra Talk? Click to read more.

Support Your Local Sandman

Support Your Local Sandman!

I may have to stop reading the children’s science section of the Sunday paper. I’m learning too much.

First Professor Beakman took away the mystery of the rainbow and the long promised pot of gold. Now he wants me to dismiss the Sandman.

He wants me to fire the guy that helps kids sleep by gently putting sand in their eyes at night. Or worse, make the Sandman a dealer in nasty nasal stuff.

Are You Ready To Help Save Your Local Sandman? Click to read how.

Too Loud for the Bananas

When the world gets too loud for bananas.

I began talking to fruit when our grandson’s addiction to sand forced us to add an indoor sandbox for rainy days.

So much sand, so much boy, so little time to dig. Who can stop to eat, let alone wash hands and eat?

If you have ever talked to bananas in hopes of enticing a three-year-old to eat, you know that you can’t just pretend to talk to food. Three-year-olds can spot “pretend” ten sandboxes away. If you are to be taken seriously, you must talk seriously. Which I did.