Never mind the PBS series, read the book, by Marc Reisner. This is a narrative that clearly spells out the long term perils of water rights, and the mendacity of those who make money off the cluelessness of the American people who want to settle an area where water doesn't reliably fall from the sky.

I lived in Northern California during a very dry spell, and although I've since moved to a water-rich climate, I still get incensed when I see people washing down their driveways and watering in the heat of the day. Easy conservation should be universal. Desalination is doable. So is gray water reclamation, but that's not an easy sell.

How long can we wait? What will happen when the faucets in Vegas and Phoenix and Atlanta dry up? Who would want to live in an arid climate without swimming pools and green lawns and decorative fountains? I guess we're going to find out.

Okay, LW, I feel for you, but your discomfort is nothing compared to the problems of the rest of your family. The Yorkie is an innocent bystander.

As many people have said, there are plenty of ways to deal with the dog - but putting it down isn't one of them. Your grandmother needs all the mental stimulation she can get to keep the dark at bay. This dog - whether the rest of the family likes it or not - is obviously a source of comfort, warmth and companionship to her. Which, if you'll pardon my pointing it out, sounds as if it's the last thing you're thinking of.

Get the dog to the vet to be sure it's relatively healthy. Get a playpen, get a dog-walker, get some minor obedience training. Get an in-home respite care worker to come and give your grandfather a break. Do something to make the situation easier on the whole family, but don't take away your grandmother's pet.

Alzheimer's is a cruel disease. Your grandmother is losing everything - and she knows it. Don't take away something that makes her happy and gives her comfort in the gathering darkness.

This is the context in which that idiotic policy really comes into its own.

The President is not only pathologically incurious and a practiced liar, he's got the minions to support his fiction to the death. Watch them twist, see them spin!

My family runs some a few beach cottages in Maine, and most of our guests are French Canadian. The border crossing has become an hours-long ordeal for them on any summer weekend, but on holiday weekends - or if there should be any famous foreign guests expected at Walker Point - the wait becomes intolerable.

One family with a little kid was stopped at the border and had to unpack everything for their 2-week stay. All the plastic beach toys and Tonka trucks were shaken, peered into, inspected very thoroughly. A French-speaking grandmother was stopped for hours because she used the pronoun "we" in speaking to the ICE guy. He demanded to know who was with her and why she was carrying so much luggage. She was traveling in caravan with the rest of her family and she had their luggage in her car. Very bad move!!

I'm organizing a secession. Maine, Canada's Tropical Province! Good healthcare, great surfing and a balmy climate!!

I only fly when it's absolutely necessary, but I've noticed one really irritating detail. The slim things dressed in tight clothes have a real advantage these days.

Those of us who wear baggy clothes or dress in more than one layer, get wanded, pulled aside, asked to take off layers so the TSA can verify that we're not hiding something underneath. The routine is such that you'd better be prepared to show some skin!

But god help you if you should let them know you don't like it, or even worse, if you should interrupt their spiel as they recite how important it is to our national security that they verify that you are really as bulky as you appear, and that it's flab, and not an explosive belt making you look like that!

Not to pick nits, but Gloucester is a small city of about 30,000. It's only about 30 miles from Boston on the North Shore, a bedroom community within easy commuting distance. It's no tiny fishing village. Glo-Chicks have never been behind the curve when it comes to self-promotion!

The real problem is what damage the Current Occupant can still do while no one is really paying attention.

To the writer who asked for a grape pie, look to the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York. Something like a slightly gelatinous grape jam in a crust, often too sweet, they're something of a regional oddity, or perhaps an acquired taste. I've never made one, so I'm not sure how it's done, but in the late summer, many fruit stands in the area sell them. Crusts are always iffy, though.

Growing up in an old apple orchard, I was raised in a pie-eating household. Baldwin apples in a deep dish, my mother's top crust, and a big chunk of cheddar - my father's favorite. Personally, I favor double-crust mincemeat with apples, brandy and walnuts worked into the mix, piled high in my green Pyrex pan with a roasting pan underneath to catch the inevitable overflow.

I used to be fairly good at it, but I have to admit I haven't made a pie in years. Thanks for the reminder - I think I'll give it a shot!