The entryway of the building looked like a garbage dump: paper was littered about, bottles lay shattered, and rotting cantaloupe and chicken parts gave off an unbearable odor.

The cheerful early morning sounds of birds outside my window make it easier to get up.

The feast at Mom’s on Sunday was delicious as usual: roast chicken, garlic and sage stuffing, sweet garden peas, gravy, and half a fresh-baked apple pie each.

The valet stepped toward my Porsche with excitement in her eyes.

My alarm clock clamored insistently until I mustered up the strength to get out of bed and turn it off.