If self-assessment can be believed, I like to think I have done a decent job of coming to grips with the fact that my days as a photographer are behind me because of the Parkinson-caused hand tremors and balance issues with which I deal.
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Going to yard sales was an exciting part of my childhood. Saturdays meant meandering along rural lanes and city blocks, following signs.
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My Dad was known for an ability to spin a tale, and we cherished the mornings he stopped by for coffee and a story.
Would those of you who enjoyed last week's hot-weather reminder that summer will be here far sooner than later, please raise your right hand.
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I have plenty to worry about. One of my ears sticks out farther than the other. I get my kids’ and grandkids’ names mixed up with long-dead relatives. If gas gets any more expensive, I will be…
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I have written about probably every stage from baby to toddler to little boy in some form, and have actually been a little perplexed by their current progression.
It has been a few years since I began sleeping at night in my recliner which is located in the living room of the Henley hacienda.
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She was there with you, surrounding you, while you grew arms and legs and eyelids. Your heart beat in harmony with hers. Her blood was your blood; her oxygen, yours. She kept you safe and prot…
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There's something about the rain that's cleansing and refreshing when you curl up with a blanket and coffee and watch it pour outside the window.
Forgive me for having to ask, but isn't it a protected right under the Constitution or Bill of Rights for an individual to be able to ask at least one stupid question a day without risk of per…
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The stool sits in the corner of our kitchen, where it’s been for over 30 years. It is ‘70s “shag carpeting” green. The paint is chipped here and there; black primer shows through from bumps an…
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Google is mad at me.I don't even know what I did, except that I asked directions to a place less than two blocks away.
When I periodically pause to count the blessings upon which I have been bestowed, near the top of my list is having good neighbors. I could definitely be living in nicer areas of America's Hom…
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It’s time for spring cleaning. I know this, because I see the neighbors out there, wiping windows, sweeping stoops and just generally bustling about.
To The Courier-Post:
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I’ve always said that no matter where I go I’m usually the most awkward person in the room.
It has come to my attention that many people do not fully appreciate being able to do something until he or she can no longer do it.
Easter Sunday is a burst of joy wrapped in purple cellophane. It is bright sunlight on tiny leaves and white tights on wiggly little legs and dye-stained fingers fussing with freshly-washed hair.
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A few days ago I posted a picture on social media.
What a smorgasbord of weather conditions we experienced last week in Northeast Missouri. There was a day when the temperature was in the mid 60s and the sun shined brightly. There were also sp…
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When you have more than one child, it becomes difficult to remember their names. Oh, you know who’s who. And it is easy to pick them out in a crowd of other kids: “Mine…mine…not mine…looks lik…
“Papa’s here!”
Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.
To The Courier-Post:
To The Courier-Post:
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I usually sit in the second booth by the front door at the coffee shop.
To The Herald-Whig:
"What movie would you like to watch tonight?"
To The Courier-Post:
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It used to be referred to by a full noun. TELEPHONE. Sometimes “phone." Never “cell."
While there is certainly no arguing that last Friday was pretty much a washout, it is hard to deny that the remainder of the week had a definite spring feel to it as the afternoon high tempera…
It’s Sunday afternoon. All is right with the world. The air is summery warm, the sky is dotted with fluffy clouds and the birds are singing.
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It was 7:30 a.m., and we were just about to walk out the door when Connor looked at me. The desperation in his eyes told me exactly what was about to happen.
As Major League Baseball owners and players continued to haggle last week over the terms of a new labor contract, many fans were left to discuss their relationship with the sport.
To The Courier Post:
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It’s happening more and more now. My husband and I have reached the unenviable age that is marked by almost daily obituary notices of famous people who were a vicarious part of our own life story.
Life is full of awkward questions. They begin at an early age. A few for example: Who gave the dog a piece of taffy?
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My life has been filled with visual aids. Mom made sure she didn’t just tell me things. She SHOWED me.
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How do I describe joy? Maybe it’s the feeling I get when I stop amidst the busy day and just look at my family.
As a kid growing up my winter weather memories are of playing football with other youngsters from the neighborhood in which I grew up in Rolla regardless of how cold it was or how much snow fell.
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February is a tough month. Its days of lengthening sunlight hold little of interest to see. The ground is alternately hard as granite and sloppy with murky mud.
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Maybe 10 years ago or so I walked back to the pharmacy.
What a difference 24 hours can make in the weather. No better example can be found than the weather experienced in Hannibal last Wednesday and Thursday.
I was next in line at the grocery checkout. The woman in front of me was ready to pay; she fumbled her hand inside her purse and withdrew a worn, black, checkbook cover.
How did you spend your Sunday afternoon/evening?
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At school drop-off, I sent him off with my usual have-a-good-day-I-love-you speech. It wasn’t until he walked away that I noticed his sweatshirt hood was full of sawdust.
How old am I? Old enough to remember when a beautiful church stood near the junction of Fulton Avenue and MO 79.
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“With proper care, you new washing machine should last a lifetime.” The young man at Lowe’s wiggled his eyebrows and patted the appliance. At first, I dismissed his statement as typical salesm…
