Beginning this project was scary. Burned into my memory is the clay dog I proudly gave my mother when I was in elementary school. Purple, with orange zig zags and green dots, it was supposed to be an artsy rendition of our Golden Retriever. In reality it looked like it have five legs and a mass of tumors. I guess I really can’t blame my mom for her less than enthusiastic reception–or at least that’s what I have been telling my analyst every week since 1979.
