
This reminds me of one of my Grandpa’s favorite riddles.
What’s the difference between “unlawful” and “illegal?” (Answer in the first comment.)

This reminds me of one of my Grandpa’s favorite riddles.
What’s the difference between “unlawful” and “illegal?” (Answer in the first comment.)
Why did Punxsutawney Phil’s wife divorce him?
Because he kept seeing his shadow on the side!

Just saw the news that the Potts Dogs in Nazareth is rebranding and overhauling the menu after 50 years. 🌭
I never made it to that specific location—I was a regular at the Bethlehem shop back in my college days—but seeing a local classic change this much is still tough to watch. Apparently, they are adding a “tropical flair” to the new menu.
I’m sorry, but I just can’t get behind that. Pineapple does not belong on a hot dog. 🍍 Some things are sacred! Just give me the classic chili sauce any day.
We’ve all been there: it’s 7:00 AM, you’re rushing out the door, and the choice is usually between skipping breakfast or grabbing something convenient but nutritionally void.
Enter Oats Overnight. It promises the convenience of a protein shake with the substance of a meal. But does the nutrition label support the claims? I took a deep dive into the Chocolate Peanut Butter Banana flavor to see if it’s actually good fuel or just a glorified dessert.
Most instant oatmeal packets are carb-heavy sugar bombs with barely enough protein to keep a bird full. This label tells a different story.
In an era of ultra-processed foods, this ingredient list is refreshing. It relies on whole foods rather than chemical stabilizers.
While the instructions might say water is an option, using 2% milk is the secret weapon for this product.
When you mix this pouch with 8oz of 2% milk, you aren’t just improving the texture; you are chemically upgrading your morning.
With the release of the new 2026 Dietary Guidelines, which famously flipped the food pyramid to prioritize proteins and healthy fats over grains, does oatmeal still have a place?
Surprisingly, yes.
While traditional oatmeal sits at the bottom of the new pyramid (the “limit” section), Oats Overnight effectively hacks the system. By fortifying the oats with whey protein and pairing them with dairy fats, it bridges the gap between the “Grain” and “Protein” categories. It transforms a carbohydrate-heavy meal into a macro-balanced powerhouse that aligns with modern nutritional science.
This is a high-performance breakfast. It’s perfect for anyone looking to bridge the gap between a quick protein shake and a substantial meal. Just remember: skip the water and reach for the milk. Your tastebuds (and your muscles) will thank you.
The evening after the Challenger shuttle explosion, Ronald Reagan addressed a grieving nation from the Oval Office. He ended his speech with these words:
“The crew of the space shuttle Challenger honored us by the manner in which they lived their lives. We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and ‘slipped the surly bonds of earth’ to ‘touch the face of God.'”


By day, he is just Barry, a mild-mannered Eastern Bluebird with a penchant for mealworms and cheerful warbling. But Barry harbors a dark past.
Seasons ago, during the Great Famine of Mid-February, Barry watched helplessly as the notorious “Bushy-Tail Syndicate”—a ruthless gang of gray squirrels—raided the neighborhood’s prime feeder. They didn’t just eat; they destroyed. They spilled the premium black oil sunflower seeds onto the muddy ground below, laughing their chittering laughs.
The carnage changed Barry. He realized that being just another pretty songbird wasn’t enough. The backyard needed a guardian. A symbol.
Scavenging a scrap of highly durable, weather-resistant blue fabric dropped near a human’s clothesline, Barry fashioned a cowl to mask his identity and a cape to aid his aerodynamic dives. He trained in the shadows of the deck, honing his skills: stealth gliding, super-avian vision capable of spotting a whisker twitch at fifty yards, and the “Beak of Justice”—a rapid-peck technique that can disarm a rodent three times his size.
Now, when the sun sets and the nocturnal pests emerge, Barry leaves his nest. He perches silently on the yellow Bird Buddy feeder, a lone sentinel against the chaos.
He is the terror that flaps in the night. He is the guardian of the grain. He is… The Caped Cruseeder.
The sky over Cape Canaveral was a piercing, deceptive blue forty years ago today. It was the kind of sky that invites you to look up, to dream, and to believe that the limits of our world are just temporary suggestions.
For most of the world, January 28, 1986, is a date frozen in history books. I was already in college but one of my high school teachers was Walt Tremer. He was one of the ten finalists for Teacher in Space. He could have been on that space craft.
Today marks the 40th anniversary of the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster. While the nation mourns the seven heroes who slipped the surly bonds of Earth to “touch the face of God.”
In 1985, NASA announced the Teacher in Space program. The goal was simple but revolutionary: send an educator into orbit to communicate with students from the ultimate classroom. It wasn’t just about science; it was about democratizing the stars.
Mr. Tremer wasn’t just a name on a list; he was a force of nature in our school in Pennsylvania. When the announcement came that he was a finalist—chosen as one of the elite educators from thousands of applicants—the energy was electric. We weren’t just watching NASA; we were watching him. He went through the screenings, the interviews, and the rigorous selection process that narrowed the field down to the very best.
He often spoke about the “Teacher in Space” program with a mix of awe and determination. He made us feel like our small corner of the world was connected to the launchpad in Florida.
On the morning of the launch, the air was unusually cold in Florida, famously freezing the O-rings that would seal the shuttle’s fate. In classrooms across America, televisions were rolled in on A/V carts. Students watched Christa McAuliffe, the woman who ultimately won the seat, wave to the cameras. She was the “everyteacher.”
And then, 73 seconds into the flight, the cheers turned to confusion, and then to a silence so heavy it felt like it had physical weight.
The announcement came: “Flight controllers here looking very carefully at the situation. Obviously a major malfunction.”
For the families of the Challenger 7—Dick Scobee, Michael Smith, Ronald McNair, Ellison Onizuka, Judith Resnik, Gregory Jarvis, and Christa McAuliffe—the loss was absolute.

For my teacher, Walt Tremer, and for us, his students, the grief was complicated by a chilling realization: It could have been him.
Walt Tremer later described the experience in interviews as being “a phone call away” from that seat. He watched the tragedy unfold with a divided heart—devastated by the loss of his colleagues, yet keenly aware of the twist of fate that kept his feet on the ground.
That kind of “survivor’s proximity” changes a person. It changed how he taught, and it certainly changed how his students learned. We realized that exploration isn’t free. We learned that the people who push boundaries—whether they are astronauts or the math teacher down the hall—are risking everything to expand human knowledge.
Four decades later, the scar on the American psyche has healed, but the mark remains. The Challenger Centers for Space Science Education were born from that tragedy, continuing the educational mission that Christa McAuliffe started.
As we mark this 40th anniversary, I honor the seven who were lost. But I also honor the teachers like Walt Tremer who raised their hands. They reminded a generation of students that teaching is the most optimistic profession in the world—because it’s always about the future.
We are still looking up, Mr. Tremer. We are still looking up.
