It isn't a big deal when compared to world problems, but when you're playing a dance job and your drummer looks lost in a fog when he's supposed to be getting ready to chime in with some harmony, it can make you just a little uneasy.
If you ever see an elderly man standing on a porch waving a Barbie doll around, here's a tip: It's almost certain that a granddaughter is involved somewhere.
A quarter of a century later, I can hear the sizzle of hamburger in the skillet on the stove and smell the seasoning I'd added to the browning meat I planned to mix with a box of macaroni Hamburger Helper
South of Thedford on U. S. Highway 83 in Nebraska, the road tops a rise and runs down a long hill and across the Dismal River. Years ago, the first time we traveled from Pierre to Denver on Highway 83, I laughed at the name. I thought of a line from Linus in the holiday TV classic "A Charlie Brown Christmas.'' When Charlie Brown chooses a small, scraggly tree and gets laughed out of the auditorium by the rest of the gang, Linus looks at the tree and says, "I never thought it was such a bad little tree. It's not bad at all, really.''
For all of my years as a newspaper reporter, I believed almost every record, memo, phone log and scribble on a piece of note paper in any government office should be open to the public.
When we sold our house and moved to a smaller place, I was surprised by how many cookbooks we had to pack and haul across town. We didn't have as many cookbooks as we had photo albums, not by a long shot. Nancy had been shooting pictures since probably high school, for sure from the time she enrolled at St. Catherine's in St. Paul. She had a small camera, and she used it, with good judgment and to good effect. Over the years of our marriage, I built several shelves to hold the growing number of albums.
I'm no Bible scholar, not even a serious student of the Good Book, but as Easter Sunday nears I find myself considering in the context of current events a familiar Scripture passage I first read long ago. I thought of the passage the other evening as I reflected on the events of Feb. 14 at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. Seventeen students and faculty were shot to death that day, victims of a gunman who walked into the building and began firing a rifle. One of the victims was a 15-year-old — just a kid — named Peter Wang.
I've been a fan of the weekly television program "60 Minutes'' for decades, so it wasn't unusual that I had that program on the screen last Sunday evening. I didn't tune in specifically to see Anderson Cooper interview adult entertainer Stormy Daniels. I'd have been watching, anyway, whatever the topic. That hour of television has been as much a Sunday evening tradition around our home as popcorn and cheese and slices of apple, and traditions don't come much stronger than our Sunday evening popcorn.
I heard the other day about an active-shooter drill at a school in the Twin Cities, and I haven't been able to get it out of my mind.
We had just crossed Minnechaduza Creek on Highway 83 this side of Valentine, Nebraska, when the passenger in the car lamented her lack of restraint in choosing foods during our long travel day home from Colorado. She eyed the last couple of nuggets of breaded chicken bits in the cardboard container and shook her head. "I haven't had a single healthy thing to eat this entire day,'' she said.