This week's highest peaks to the lowest valleys

On Sunday morning, I was at Mass, a very rare occurrence since I left Catholicism and religion in the rearview mirror sixty years ago.

Still, I remember an old nun putting the fear of hell in us back in elementary school.

A bolt of lightning would zap our asses (my words, not hers) if we ever entertained wild thoughts of becoming pagans, which we were reminded repeatedly are the Lutherans.

Some days, when life is really crappy, I stand outside in a thunderstorm and yell, "Hit me, Jesus! Take me out of my misery. I hate washing dishes. Blast me with your best bolt!"

The lightning always hits a...