Giles Snyder

The two guys in line ahead of me at the convenience store early last Saturday morning were obviously headed to Morgantown. They were wearing the gold and blue of West Virginia University. One had on a WVU football jersey, the other a gold WVU t-shirt topped off by a blue cap with the flying WV logo stitched above the bill. "Think I know where you guys are going," I said. "You too?" the guy in the jersey asked as he finished paying for his breakfast and his companion - the one with the flying WV perched on his head - stepped up to the counter. "Not sure about this, but, yep ...," I answered. Going to a WVU game is always a little odd for me. My Grandfather, my Dad, my Mom, and a couple of my Uncles all went to school there. I didn't. I rebelled and went to Marshall, WVU's smaller, in-state rival in Huntington, where game day demands kelly green and white rather than gold and blue. My Marshall friends will likely accuse me of being

I never like wet weather more than when it hasn't rained in a while. And when it started drizzling late this week, I was nothing if not enthusiastic. Dark clouds hung over the neighborhood Friday morning. And it was wet outside. And cool. And while the brittle, brown grass in my yard soaked up the moisture, I enjoyed - really enjoyed - a hot cup of coffee on the stoop for the first time in what seemed like ages. Quite a change from the blazing sun of the day before, when coffee on the stoop was as out of the question as getting our Big Dog Rodney to heave himself up off his favorite air conditioning vent. But while Friday may have dawned cool and wet, overall the neighborhood this week remained locked in that frustrating place between summer and fall, when cargo shorts and Crocs vie with jeans and boots for the order of the day. In less than 24 hours, my neighborhood went from the extreme of summer - with temperatures flirting with 100 degrees - to highs that only nud

The weather in my neighborhood this week had a little trouble making up its mind. It couldn't decide between the heat and humidity of summer and the cooler, crisper conditions of autumn. Of course, fall will eventually win. It always does. And I'm thankful for that. I am an out-of-shape middle-aged dad and I don't take to summer the way I used to, if I ever did. I'm sure I sort of liked broiling when I was a kid, when I spent most of my summer vacation from school swimming bare-chested at the pool. But I've been an adult (chronologically speaking) for quite some time now and I'm pretty sure no one wants to see me stripped down to my waist anymore, not that they ever did. The humidity of a West Virginia summer is perfect for people who like to sweat. My wife is one of them. She rides her bicycle for miles every day and walks our Big Dog Rodney each morning and each evening, all with the energy of a 20-year-old. She never stops. To me, though, summer just