I’m not a drama or theatre expert.

I’ve seen a few professional plays, and enjoyed them all, to include the one where I thought I’d suffocate before the final curtain.

Broadway is famous for its shows, but I figured the shows couldn’t be as good as I’d heard.

When I saw one last year, I figured out I was wrong.


Long ago, I made one of my many bad choices.

I went outside to play, and saw a five-gallon bucket.

There was water in it and a bee on it.

I’d been told bees don’t usually bother you if you don’t bother them, which has since proven to be mostly true, but I was a young boy and it proved impossible not to test such a theory.


I went to watch a play Saturday night.

It was the first time I attended a live play put on by professional actors since a school field trip to the Alabama Shakespeare Festival.

The trip I took to Montgomery with the rest of the ninth-grade class is a pleasant memory except for one thing.