I asked my 10-year-old grandson, Little H, if he stayed up to watch the ball drop last night.
Nah. I've stayed up before and seen it, and let me tell'ya, it's nothing special. We watched it on the news this morning, instead.
He's ten and he's already figured it out. I took him to mass at St. Vincent's this morning, and he sat there quietly devising a new way to surreptitiously display his middle finger. Like I said, he's ten.
The day began bright and sunny, in the mid-40s -- more like Easter Sunday instead of New Year's Day -- and by midday it morphed into dreary and dismal, which I wouldn't mind if I had that fireplace.
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