I’m late and agitated. The Reno streets are packed with Christmas shoppers who drive as if visions of sugarplums are dancing in their heads. The right lane of Virginia Street is decorated with those orange detour cones that limit traffic to a single lane. Two green lights come and go and now it’s my turn to bust out of the jam.

I have a secret medicine for all those people who feel a little anxious, unfulfilled, lonely, uninspired, tired or whatever else is keeping them from appreciating the little joys of the day.

When friends learn Sherry and I spend both time and dollars tending to a frog, they snicker behind our backs. But maybe life’s little, unexpected pleasures are worth this kind of investment.

I remember when being told to sit quietly in a chair was a common form of punishment in both schools and households. These days, I’d consider it a gift to be pointed to a chair and told to think about what I’ve done.

It’s a different era today, with different kinds of heroes than when I was growing up. Even still, I hope my grandkids find a Mr. Hogan of their own.

Some people see their lives as something they own and maneuver the best they can. Others see themselves as victims of what life dishes up. I believe most of us have a choice in the matter.

If you think you know about all of the things your kids did growing up, think again.

I believe a six-hole miniature golf course is saving my sanity and our company. Games have a way of doing that.

I’m walking my garbage can to the curb for the penultimate time this month. My neighbor is doing the same. He is a man with whom, for seven years, I’ve only exchanged occasional nods. It’s still dark out, but I suddenly hear him speak. He asks me, “Who are you, anyway?”