I think that Bob had the perfect job. He could just sit down at the old typewriter and write whatever he wanted. It didn't have to be a novel, it didn't necessarily have to follow any format. He just wrote and what he wrote was entertaining and funny.
And, funny enough, here I sit on Monday morning writing pretty much whatever I want. I've created the scene of my own perfect job. Well, except for the part of getting paid.
Mondays are a lot like the aftermath of a gigantic snowstorm around here. No matter how hard I try, it's as if I need a shovel to dig myself out. On top of the physical activity of digging, I also take a quiet moment to write and reflect.
I'd like to dedicate my Mondays to Bob. He passed away in 1999, but I still think about him every Monday. He was a columnist for 31 years and dedicated to journalism education and his community.
Cheers, Bob. Now, I'm off to get my shovel.
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