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Richard Coleman says walking the five-mile Peavine Trail here in Chino Valley is far more than mere physical exercise.
We’ve all had a lot to ponder and to process these past few months. Every new day in 2020 brought with it a whole new challenge.
This year has been blemished by countless nights of riots and looting in cities across the country, destructive acting out that actually had nothing to do with the alleged racial discrimination that purportedly sparked the violence.
I’m so proud of myself. I traveled to the store this past weekend and came close to breaking the world’s record for speed-grocery shopping. Not only did I cut quite a striking figure catapulting through the food aisles, but I also located three 15.5 oz. cans of Kroger-brand hominy.
Earlier this year, Chino Valley Repertory Theatre Creative Director Jeff Frohock was faced with a problem.
One of the pleasures of writing a newspaper column is the opportunity to meet folks with unique life experiences. Such was the case recently when I visited with Nick and Rada who are naturalized US citizens from Serbia.
At last count, there are approximately 2,741 in-home exercise machines available to sculpt, chisel and mold various parts of one’s body. Each of these actions sounds excruciating.
To young boys of my generation, there were only so many professional advancement plans on our radar screens: policeman, fireman, astronaut, to be the next Johnny Unitus, etc.
The United Kingdom has already prepared its list of names for hurricanes that may occur this coming winter in the North Atlantic Ocean. I don’t object to being prepared. Generally, I don’t object to the contents of this list that includes names such as Heulwen, Phoebe, Fleur, Saidhbhin and Naia, except that I can’t pronounce some of them.
The United Kingdom has already prepared its list of names for hurricanes that may occur this coming winter in the North Atlantic Ocean.
As we all know, in December of this year, Chino Valley Mayor Darryl Croft, Councilman Mike Best and Town Clerk Jami Lewis are retiring from public service and trundling off into the sunset.
I’ve worked during my life to develop a reliable vocabulary. Don’t know why, particularly, but it was kind of fun adding an obscure word to my verbal arsenal even if I rarely used it. I have at last reached a point in my tenure that I can understand most of what I hear but less and less of what I see on TV each night, but that’s another issue.
Did you know there are anywhere from 8,000 to 10,000 Patron Saints … or more? I’m led to believe that this broad count also includes blesseds and venerables.
I think it’s time we had a different kind of demonstration in the streets. A peaceful but passionate one with a theme that most American citizens can support. It’s a theme that would help us put many of today’s news reports in perspective.
In past columns I’ve freely admitted that my wife and I are retired folks living the dream and the simple life here in Chino Valley.
Chino Valley resident Tony Saverino become a businessman very early in life. In the early 1930’s, he operated a shoe shine box promoting “Free shoe shines with a 5-cent tax.” He sold
Especially during these times of COVID-19 shutdown, one seeks activities to keep the mind and fingers busy. I was probably first introduced to the phenomenon of knitting when my parents told me I should “tend to my own knitting” rather than be concerned about what others were doing, saying and thinking.
A few days ago, my wife introduced a new concept for dinner called a shrimp mooshoo … burrito-type thing. Not only is the wife mighty capable and creative as a master gardener in landscaping around our house, she is equally imaginative in the kitchen.
In a ceaseless crusade to redefine my life, I’ve been thinking about becoming a philanthropist. My unique brand of self-serving and superficial research indicates that this occupation might be the best kind of “thropist” out there.
I probably wouldn’t have written this column about the history of and importance of tickling in our modern-day universe, but Joe, a friend in the Valley, sent me a column penned by now-deceased Arizona Republic reporter and columnist Clay Thompson.
OK Listen, for some time now, I’ve sought that huge financial windfall that would put me in the chips. I’ve run at least two columns promoting myself for a multi-million-dollar contract to be a national spokesman for whatever product or service.
Memory can be a real challenge. I had a really powerful title for today’s sermon, but for some reason, it now eludes me.
I’m not talking about Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical production that first performed in 1980. I’m talking about the domestic kind that sleep on your living room couch.
Astrologists explain that folks born under the same Zodiac sign usually share similar traits, personalities, abilities, and so forth. If that’s true, why aren’t I more like Julius, Bill, John and Giovanni in the following paragraphs? I ask since they and I were all born on May 24 at one time or another.
I don’t believe in making the bed every morning. But I don’t think that’s a real fault or character flaw. I mean, taking up valuable time to smooth out a bed that I’m going to unsmooth that night reduces the time I can employ to do angelic things for my community and my country, right? T
When I first ran across a fellow named Joseph C. Gayetty online, I thought his was a great name for a major newspaper publisher with millions of readers and a man who wielded great influence in his home city and around the country.
I recently woke up at 2:30 a.m. This sudden and unexpected launch into a new day at such an uncivilized hour was jolting, but I took advantage of the situation by beginning a to-do list for all the things I wanted to accomplish during the upcoming hours.
It’s been a busy two weeks already. Meetings cancelled.
If you persist in reading this column today rather than doing something worthwhile with your time, you’ll learn about a number of words that you have never heard of and will never use. I’m on my knees thanking the vocabulary gods that English is such a target-rich language.
Last week’s column left you, David, his brother, mother and grandfather departing Singapore and heading for Vietnam where they anchored off shore for three weeks since, in 1965, the country wasn’t receiving civilian visitors.
The last few times we’ve breakfasted at Skillets Café, my wife couldn’t focus on her scrambled eggs, it seems, she was seriously distracted by the dog paintings displayed on the wall above our table.
My wife tells me I should have written about seasonal topics in December.
Two or three times a week, when buried deeply in conversation, my wife and I utter the words, “Let’s Google it.!” when we need to check a fact. It seems that no matter what we ask of the Internet, we get a response that satisfies our curiosity and our conversational requirements.
Headline in the Sept. 17, 1871 Dodge City Times: “U.S. Marshal Matt Dillon Resigns in a Huff!”
You did it, again, Chino Valley and Paulden!
Some years ago, I met a fellow by the name of Bill McMahan. He’s the guy who tortured me with physical therapy exercises as I recovered from shoulder and hip replacement surgeries. I hasten to add that due to his diligence and knowledge, as well as the skill of the surgeon, both replacement procedures were totally successful.
Half this column will be serious. Half won’t be. It’s up to you to decide which half is which.
Growing up I had no brothers and one sister. I’ve never mourned being part of a small family. But I mourn today. Based on 2017 statistics, I mourn that I have over 325 million brothers and sisters in this country, but we’re not close.
I’m amazed by a variety of things in life: the love of a devoted wife (even though it took three attempts to experience it); the lifelong loyalty of a dog; the warmth and power of the sun, which is over 93 million miles away (an orbit average); and, the frigid Phoenix Suns’ inability to reach the NBA finals in the past 25 years.
The title of this column was misleading as soon as I wrote it. I suspect that most folks already know Scott Bruner, director of the Chino Valley Library.
It was another quiet celebration of the New Year this year. Oh, we did join with some neighborhood friends to usher in the new calendar page, but most of us were comatose long before the magic ball/boot, or whatever else fell.
When you turned 50 years of age, you may not have made a big deal out of it. But that’s not the case with Chino Valley.
I’m growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of quality public discourse of the last few years.