More humorous, kindly, brief inspirational essays from a master of the form. Fulghum (All I Really Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten), a retired Unitarian minister, knows exactly what buttons to push: the big ones that show grandmas baking bread, kids stealing from the cookie jar. He's the closest literary equivalent to Norman Rockwell around--but he's better, because he's got a streak of perversity. Witness, for instance, his essay about pets, in which he allows that he can't stand dogs, and then rubs salt in the wound by saluting certain Asian cuisines for considering dogs to be a tasty entrâ€še. Less inflammatory, but equally amusing, are his pieces about the joys of tree-climbing, pondering, dancing, brain research, the author of ""Jingle Bells,"" toy dolls, Mother's Day, chaos, etc. Here and there, he experiments with his patented form, offering ""Fulghum's Recommendations"" (Recommendation #1: ""Buy lemonade from any kid who is selling"") and a peculiar questionnaire (Question #18: ""Which Way is Up?""); often he likes to cut his sugar with a dash of bitters, most notably in an essay describing a wedding at which the bride, while strolling down the aisle, vomited. Despite his coy disavowals (""here is not a collection of well-crafted essays, but the ongoing minutes from a one-man committee meeting, gussied up a bit. . .an amateur's job""), it becomes increasingly apparent that Fulghum is a cunning artificer who knows exactly what he is doing, and why, and how. He spoons on the syrup, sure, but it's pure grade-A maple. A sure-fire best-seller and, let's rejoice, a capable example of American craftsman. ship.