Every man sees in his relatives, and especially in his cousins, a series of grotesque caricatures of himself.

“If we call these foothills, can we call the little trees 'foot trees?''' (While driving in the foothills.)

Certain is it that there is no kind of affection so purely angelic as of a father to a daughter. In love to our wives there is desire; to our sons, ambition; but to our daughters there is something which there are no words to express.

'Daddy, how many whoppers are there in those tall trees?' After waking up in the car while driving through Calaveras Big Trees and hearing daddy say, 'Wow, that's a whopper of a tree.'

'Daddy, there's Victor, only he has more white hairs now.' (about our neighbor 3 doors down who is a regular reader of McClelland Family.com)