Editor’s note: This is the continuation of a column that began in last week’s issue.

When old friends drop by for an occasional visit, they often pick up my binoculars from beside my easy chair and ask if they are new. I innocently answer “No, I use them to read the football scores as they scroll across the bottom of my TV screen”. I explain that I must get a new television, since the screen has dimmed to the point that I can hardly read the fine print.

My grandchildren are the joy of my life. I truly love to see them and play with them. I am often mystified as to why some of them seem to be growing up so fast. In the not-so-distant past, I was able to outrun all of them. I could catch and toss them in the air with ease. Now, by the time I can get my recliner up to launching speed to propel me from its comforting grip, they are well beyond my grasp and running headlong for the street. Not only do I have trouble remembering their names, I

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