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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.