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When I searched online for potential Halloween-column topics, I encountered innumerable headlines screaming about fun, easy, last-minute homemade Halloween costumes.
“Where’s your Bayer?” I vividly remember that question from my high school job working in a convenience market in my Tennessee hometown.
So, now the fuzzy purple critter isn’t the only “grimace” I’ll associate with the McDonald’s chain.
If I could somehow call my father in the Great Beyond, I’d confess that I am turning into him.
“An allergy season so bad you don’t need allergies to feel miserable,” blared the headline in the Wall Street Journal.
Folks, “last one in is a rotten egg” applies to more than swimming pools.
I just heard about a local business losing a major customer over a trivial misunderstanding.
Not everyone does Valentine’s Day well.
It’s an amenity that most consumers take for granted. It’s an amenity that most retailers and professionals grudgingly accept as a cost of doing business.
When writing advertising copy, I sometimes find myself desperately searching for a zinger of a tag line — and settling for trite admonitions such as “Make this the best hunting season ever” or “Make this the best summer vacation ever.”
It has been years since my family last dealt with the “pictures with Santa” pageantry, but Saint Nick impersonators remain an integral part of Christmas for Americans.
Perhaps it’s partly because my mother owns a huge antique desk from Milky Way Farm (the former estate of Franklin C. Mars, founder of Mars Candies), but I pay keen attention to the annual flurry of “filler” news items about Halloween candy.
“Were you raised in a barn?” I never had the legendary Mrs. Montgomery as a teacher; but she was a senior class adviser and I needed her input on a school program script, so I made the rookie mistake of assuming her wide-open door meant I could forego the formality of knocking.
So, having earned an associate’s degree from our local community college, my son Gideon is now pursuing a bachelor’s degree in mechatronic engineering from my old alma mater.
According to the National Gardening Association, the number of households growing their own vegetables, fruit and other foods has tripled since 2008.
A tiny portion of my “day job” at a farm-and-home cooperative involves writing radio commercials and on-hold phone messages.
From time to time, I attempt to make this column more interactive — soliciting reader comments on burning questions such as “Which songs make you cry?,” “What was your favorite summer vacation?,” “Does this font make me look fat?,” etc.
I’m not seeking sympathy, but I’m writing this on the eve of my annual physical exam.
Last year the media went into a frenzy over the 400th anniversary of the Mayflower’s arrival in North America, but the festivities were just beginning.
If you don’t like my opinions this week, you can take a flying leap…into a pile of festive autumn leaves.
According to the Wall Street Journal, the fledgling online gambling industry is poised to explode in popularity. This season, the NFL for the first time is permitting sports-gambling companies to advertise during games.
According to CNN, pandemic fears and enhanced unemployment benefits have left the nation facing a serious shortage of qualified school bus drivers.
While in Santa Claus, Indiana, to cool off at Holiday World, the Tyree family took a side trip to tour the Lincoln Boyhood National Memorial in nearby Lincoln City.
“You load 16 tons and what do you get? Disability payments and not a Corvette.” — with apologies to Tennessee Ernie Ford.
My new supervisor anticipates being a first-time father in a few months. I hope he doesn’t become one of THOSE fathers.
By the time most of you read this, my son Gideon will have marched across the gymnasium floor and received his high school diploma.
Misery loves company, but it’s cold comfort that many of you — like me — still haven’t filed your 2020 income tax returns.
Since you asked, my niece Claire is expecting her first baby in August. Her sister Emma is expecting her second child in October.
Tree huggers, are you contemplating a Zoom meeting with Mr. Elm instead?
There was certainly nothing trivial about the events of that first Easter Sunday, but that hasn’t stopped magazines from cranking out baskets of Easter trivia year after year.
First off, Louis Armstrong was right about it being a wonderful world. And I realize many people suffer far worse troubles than mine.
Sure, it made the rounds of the “News of the Weird” columns when a Nashville businessman left $5 million in a trust fund for his beloved border collie Lulu. But such gestures aren’t as eccentric as you might think.
Whether you read these words before or after Presidents’ Day 2021, be advised that I’m already thinking ahead to Presidents’ Day 2071.
Although the bar has been set remarkably low during some epochs (“Dearest, you’ve survived to produce seven more viable male heirs than my second wife”), society has always expected couples to use terms of endearment to grease the wheels of their relationships.
There’s no middle ground with middle names.
It has been a bittersweet experience seeing the mailbox flooded with college recruiting brochures addressed to my son Gideon.
“Hello. I’m Grandpa.”
Are you a faithful Christian who is concerned about empty pews — and the steadily decreasing impact of Christianity on the social fabric?
Veterans Day parades? Veterans Day school essays? Veterans Day ceremonies on the courthouse lawn?
I was trying to clear the cobwebs from my mind, and all I could find was random thoughts about Halloween (a.k.a. Hallowe’en, a.k.a.
This is a year of double milestones: my mother’s house turns 75 and (as of Oct. 30) she will have been living there for 50 years.
My son Gideon has now finished both his ACT and SAT college entrance exams (scoring at an impressive percentile somewhere between “It’s …it’s…go ask my wife” and “Never you MIND what his father’s score was”), but I wonder if the tests will still be relevant when HIS hypothetical kids reach college age.
What were you doing the night of Saturday, March 19, 1977?
What were you doing the night of Saturday, March 19, 1977? Like 21.2 million other Americans, I was watching the final episode of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.”
“Shower the people you love with love/ Show them the way that you feel.” — James Taylor With all due respect to the five-time Grammy Award winner, I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain and I’ve seen sunny days when I wished people would put their advice where the sun DON’T shine.
What spoils even more evening meals than robocalls? How about newscasts with their endless stream of titillating revelations coyly attributed to “reliable sources,” “people close to the matter,” “people familiar with the situation,” “people who thought the situation was a cast member of ‘Jersey Shore’,” etc.?
Dear pandemic-battered readers, as you try adapting to the New Normal, just hope no diehards are waiting to confuse you with a plethora of ADDITIONAL configurations.
Speaking as a father (“What – am I made of money? Go ask your mother! When you have your own roof, you can make your own rules! No, my abs aren’t flabby, they’re just meditating…”)
One of the most awkward, self-conscious incidents in my life occurred when I was shopping with a group, and one of my companions blithely continued browsing long after the store doors were locked.
I hope the document remains locked away unused for many years, but my brother and I finally got around to meeting with a lawyer and helping our mother make out her last will and testament.
Did you realize that Jan. 19 marks the 100th birthday of that indefatigable advocacy group the American Civil Liberties Union?
Most of my Christmases have become hopelessly blurred together, but Christmas 1969 holds a special place in my heart.
The words weren’t aimed directly at me, but I was recently flummoxed by an unexpected undercurrent of animosity. In an online post, a military veteran refused to confine his anger to people who spit on veterans or ignore veterans. He vented about citizens who actually pause to ACKNOWLEDGE the contribution of former service people.
I’m not proud of it, but I haven’t visited the now-disheveled cemetery on the hillside behind my late father’s childhood home in more than 40 years. Willie Nelson was right when he mused, “Ain’t it funny how time slips away?”
“If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a perfect kid. And six of ‘em, yecch!” — Ann B. Davis as housekeeper Alice Nelson.