I got an e-mail the other day from a friend, forwarded from a friend of hers, and so on ...

It contained about 20 of the cutest photos of dogs dressed in Halloween costumes. Some really tolerant pooches there. Also, I didn’t see any cats dressed up. I could just image the complaining and the scratches I would get if I tried to dress up my cat in a costume of any kind. She even hates the collar.

Anyway, it really got me thinking about the originator of this e-mail and of the dozens of others with equally large content. I got another e-mail about two months ago with dozens of beautiful photos, set to music.

What do these people do for a living? How do they have time to compile all this?

If anyone knows the answer, let me know. I want that job!!

Last fall we went to North Carolina’s Outer Banks for the wedding of friends Wendy and Brian -- we call them Brendy.
A group of friends rented a house for a week and shared meals together. Everyone brought food to share, but we brought one thing I was sure only my husband would eat -- Spam. It nowhere near the top of my favorite foods list (although I really can’t understand since I’ll eat scrapple). He loves it. Of course, that’s not saying much since he discovered haggis when he went to Scotland and ate it almost every day while he was there. He was in the Navy for a few years, so I think he’ll eat pretty much anything.
Well, was I surprised.
I begrudgingly cooked it for him one morning for breakfast and two friends, attracted by the scent of something cooking, arrived in the kitchen. They tried it and loved it and eventually went out and bought some for themselves.
No longer can I kid him about his taste in food.
My husband has a new motto: Turning the world on to Spam, one slice at a time.

Everyone seems to have Phillies Phever. I’m one of them. But I’ve had the fever for most of my life.
It started back in the mid 1960s when my friend Linda’s father had tickets for the games. I’m not sure he had season tickets, but I know we went to a lot of games at Connie Mack Stadium. He had great seats, as I recall they were in right field, only about 10 rows back.
The three of us would bring our baseball mitts. One of my most vivid memories is of the day her father, with crutches and a cast on his leg, stood up and caught a foul ball hit by Johnny Callison. He of course gave it to Linda, who was in love with Callison (who coincidentally played right field). I, being a bit more of the wild child, was enamored with lefty Bo Belinsky.
So who are the teenage girls dreaming about now?

Every year around this time, my parents would get in the car and drive north. They both loved looking at the changing leaves. They would drive for hours, stay a few days in Vermont and head back to Chester County.
My father spent much of his youth in Vermont. I’ve had family members living there since the late 1700s. There are still a few that have not sold out to ski resort developers. It is a beautiful state not only in the fall, but all year.
But no matter how beautiful Vermont was, they would always look forward to coming home. My father used to say that there was no place more beautiful than Chester County in the fall. I agree.
Look out your window and enjoy the view (and save a lot of gas).