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home : columnists : dick wolfsie July 22, 2014


What a trip!
My wife is planning a very exciting vacation to celebrate our 35th wedding anniversary. This was a big surprise to me. Not the vacation part, but the 35 years. I thought it was 34. Right now she is on the back porch, the patio table stacked high with books and brochures, notepad in hand, as she prepares for her next Internet search. She has made me look at photos and videos of Rome, Venice, Marseille and Monaco. I'm not sure why we are even going. I've already seen everything I want to see. Plus, I'm taking her to Olive Garden tonight. Are women ever satisfied?
Monday, July 21, 2014
Please go away
My wife is planning our summer vacation, which we will take in the fall. We took our spring vacation this summer. We got behind in 1984 and still haven't caught up. I don't have much input into the planning of these trips, but Mary Ellen did assign me an article to read in ShopSmart magazine:
Monday, July 14, 2014
MUM MUM
If my grandmother were alive today, she would be 125, and she would still, no doubt, be walking around in her six-inch-high heels, the ones she asked to be buried in-and she'd have a Marlboro in her fingers. She demanded to be called Mum Mum because the term "grandma" suggested an older woman. That wasn't going to work.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
She's in a league of her own
My wife was watching the news story about a Yankee pitcher who violated game rules by smearing some pine tar on his neck that he could then apply to the ball before each delivery. "Why did he do that?" asked Mary Ellen.

"It gives him an advantage in controlling the pitch," I explained.

Saturday, May 17, 2014
Welcome back, Wolfsie . . .
"Am I hip?" I asked my wife the other day.

"Heavens no," she said. "And the proof is that no one uses that expression anymore."

That really scared me because I'm depending on some hipness to carry me through the day of Thursday, May 15. That's when I return to teach at the high school in New York where I taught from 1969-1978. It is also the very place I graduated from in 1965. That first year of teaching, my colleagues called me Mr. Kotter, a reference to the old TV series Welcome Back, Kotter, where the main character returns to his alma mater to join the faculty. I took this as a compliment, although it was pointed out to me that as a student, I was more like Horshack, one of the teenagers in the sitcom classroom with a very annoying laugh.

Saturday, May 3, 2014


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