I’ve been lucky during my life to work with and know a number of high performers.
Here is a series of random and, hopefully, relevant thoughts about issues that have recently caught my attention.
During the past several years I have spent considerable time thinking about immigrants.
First a personal note: On behalf of my family, I want to express my deepest appreciation to the many of you who wrote personal notes following the death of My Beloved, sent checks to support the Betsy and Ron Barnes Youth Scholarship and/or attended the Celebration of Life gathering on Saturday morning, Feb. 4.
Tomorrow we celebrate the birthday of Martin Luther King Jr.
Remember when you first laid eyes on the person who became your husband or wife?
Let’s listen for a moment to Lao Tzu who wrote these words 600 years before the birth of Christ:
As we awaken this day from our warm beds And eat our hurried breakfasts Before sitting by the Christmas tree To give gifts to each other, Let’s take a moment to reflect
I think it’s time for you and me to lighten up, so I decided to turn my limited attention span to humor.
Travel back with me to when you were in elementary school.
“Life handed me a lousy script.” “Give it back,” I replied.
Along with pounds one of the things we accumulate as we age are lessons.
It’s been several weeks and I am still trying to cleanse my mind and heart from all the malicious and shameful rhetoric of individuals who ran for public office.
Prescott’s downtown Cuppers is now treating a number of customers to free coffee.
Well, it’s almost over. I hope we never experience another presidential election campaign like it.
The past few months again make it clear that we are imperfect people living in an imperfect world.
It’s October. Halloween is drawing nigh.
I ask all of you folks who care about the young to vote against Proposition 205.
For years, My Beloved and I watched CBS on Sunday mornings because of Charles Kuralt.
How strange they sometimes are.
Ever wonder how our national presidents would rank? Who were judged to be the most successful or greatest?
It’s happening more frequently now. I understand it’s a result of age, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
Suppose your youngest son takes a test. He is asked questions about vocabulary, arithmetic, whether he can remember a series of numbers and grasp analogies. There may be other tasks to perform, and then a little later, an examiner presents you with a single number—your son’s intelligence quotient (IQ).
How superstitious are you? Do you believe in supernatural experiences?
We humans are born inventors. And many of us did our best inventing when we were children.
For lo these many years I have had some favorite words: Yes—No—Fine—Done—Okay—Lovely—Right—Super.
It was never known as just the neighborhood barbershop.
Dear Parent: As you son’s elementary school teacher, I pledge to do my best to see that his year in my class is beneficial and challenging to him.
Reading a recent article about the high percentage of veterans committing suicide and the many who are struggling with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) provoked a memory that took me back to an important lesson I learned sixty-three years ago when I was serving a tour of duty with the U.S. Army in Korea.
Travel back with me to 1968. That was the year – summer really – when our family first arrived in Prescott.
When was the last time you felt really down? Ever have a feeling that your life was meaningless?
When I was young, I thought I knew what happiness was.
It’s a sad commentary, but I believe we the people are addicted to labels.
I was nine or ten, an age when my attraction to white rats was at its zenith.
If you are a father or mother of a certain age, you may have told your son that he might be president of the United States someday.
“Be reasonable.” “Me?” I’m always reasonable. It’s you who isn’t being reasonable.”
I watched an interview recently of an athlete. He reminded me of an old tennis rival I used to compete against. He always had an excuse for his loss. He wasn’t feeling well. He had a new racquet that didn’t feeling right. The strings were too loose.
During the past few years a number of you have asked me how I got involved with the Hungry Kids Project.
It’s waking up sick and she’s there holding my hand. It’s crying after I skinned my knee and being held tight ...
Mothers, if you have young children, you do not want them to read this column.
It was the spring of 1942. My elementary school class had already worked on several successful paper and scrap metal drives.
Remember what it was like to be a kid?
Back in the late ’50s when I became associated with a university, I became a skeptic.
Sometimes I wonder if the differences between us can ever be resolved. We have so much in common, but it’s the differences that get our attention and seem to identify who we are.
Recently I was asked two good questions by an old friend.
“Happiness is winning the lottery.” “Happiness is having all the money I want.” “Happiness is becoming famous.” “Happiness is living a life of comfort.”