FEATURES COLUMN: Though her time was too short, Meredith Stapleton lived it to the fullest
Meredith Stapleton proved a person can do some amazing things, even in a short period of time.
FEATURES COLUMN: Faced with an intrusive rodent and its icy stare, the only choice is to run
Nothing is more startling than to be awakened from a nap by a squirrel that’s staring you down.
FEATURES COLUMN: Birthdays are a time when we assess our lives
There’s a lot to consider when you’re facing a birthday, including what you have accomplished and what you want to accomplish.
FEATURES COLUMN: I’d like to live in Downton Abbey for a day
Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood has nothing on the World War I era aristocracy of Greta Britain.
FEATURES COLUMN: Guerrilla tactics heat up battle of the thermostat
Never draw an open battle line in the battle of the thermostat until you know which side the polar bears will take.
FEATURES COLUMN: Stupid questions sometimes sneak up on you
Sometimes you have to think before you open your mouth.
FEATURES COLUMN: Red carpet style worth missing a little sleep to see
Nothing goes better with a Golden Globe and a red carpet that your basic orange.
FEATURES COLUMN: What is, 'Personal information that makes you cringe?'
For smart people, contestants on “Jeopardy!” say some awkward things about themselves.
According to Peter J. Bentley, a PhD who is a so-called expert on the science of bad days, a bad day only exists if we allow it to. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.
FEATURES COLUMN: A Christmas sign leads to a New Years resolution
A dog and cold pucks of frozen dough lead to a new resolve to master the art of lace bread.
FEATURES COLUMN: The lights on tree are reminders of Christmases past
The coming of Christmas brings with it a special peace.
FEATURES COLUMN: Devil dummy goes for a ride out of town
Choosing to not associate with puppets does not necessarily mean you are afraid of them. Not really.
FEATURES COLUMN: When it comes to hearing, things can get real selective
They could save money on studies by running theories by married couples.
FEATURES COLUMN: No sense in magnifying the truth
A magnifying mirror can be surprising … at least on one side.
FEATURES COLUMN: Reaction and growth from adversity is also something to be grateful for
Gratitude makes all the difference in your attitude.
FEATURES COLUMN: One apron short of a decent meal
When you are a bad cook, the best thing to do is own up to it … and maybe order takeout.
FEATURES COLUMN: A nice nap is nothing to squeal about
I wish someone would tell me I have to take a nap.
It was brought to my attention this week from an article I read that there are some people who believe Halloween candy is possessed by the devil. Or is it that Halloween candy is the devil?
Feuds have erupted over far worse things, I have no doubt, but one that raises its head around our abode this time of year is quite spicy.
Hopefully, I am not the only person who didn’t realize the Olympics would be returning in February 2014, this time to Russia where they will play winter games of all shapes and sizes. I still would be clueless were it not for the tiny Olympic logo I noticed in the corner of the television screen the other night
Everything in life is better with bacon.
My friend Ann found a note on the pew at church one Communion Sunday. Scribbled in a child's hand, it read: Daddy wen do we do the drinking?
It was Kierkegaard, I think, who said that many of us pursue pleasure with such breathless haste that we hurry past it. When I was young, I may not have understood what he meant. I get it now.
It was little over a week ago that my good friend showed up at work with a bee in her bonnet. Apparently, she had encountered just that morning an individual wearing pajamas out in public. Overly baggy sleep pants. A thin, stained shirt that left little to the imagination. Mismatched socks on feet crammed into shuffling flip-flops. Hair a muss. And a continually yawning, rolled-out-of-bed look on her face as she escorted her child into school.
A thingamajig by any other name is still a doohickey.
“She said she doesn’t care.” Those were the last words I heard before a silence so thick it was suffocating filled the room, only to be broken a good fifteen seconds later by a low, throaty, almost fearful whisper.
She smelled of tea rose and Oil of Olay and the buckle on her brown leather purse was shaped like a flower. It may be strange to notice a buckle, I suppose, but this one stood out because it reflected the light just so and almost demanded me to notice it. It was just a little thing, but it led me to what I consider a treasure.
It was a question I had never asked my husband. I was just too embarrassed, I guess, to reveal something so personal about myself even after 22 years of marriage. What if he laughed at me? Thought I was stupid? The urge was too overwhelming, though, and I had to take the risk. So I did, there in the hotel restaurant as we sat waiting for our dinner. I had just settled back into my seat after a trip to the restroom. It was the perfect time.
For a car filled with four teenagers and a middle-aged couple headed north, it was remarkably quiet.
I didn’t even have to think about it. The words rolled off my tongue as if on auto pilot. “You’ll get worms,” I said, and as soon as the words left my lips another thought leapt to mind. Where in the world did I first hear that and why was it ingrained in my brain for all eternity?
The small, perfectly square cardboard box came with the mail last Tuesday. I forgot about it until I saw him sitting in the den — a collar, batteries and a small remote control spread out over the coffee table. He sighed in frustration. “Here,” my hubby said. “touch this,” and held the dog collar out to me.
If anybody finds it, please let me know.
"Dear Mandy,” the email started and what followed was perhaps one of the top four oddest questions I have ever been asked by a stranger. ... “How do you pick a watermelon?”
‘That’s not the way my mama does it,” he said and it must have taken everything I had not to knock him senseless. Granted, it was more than 20 years ago ... but I am certain I gazed upon him not so kindly. It actually may have been our very first newlywed bone of contention. His mama’s way was perfectly fine and produced wonderful results, I could attest. But my way was just as good.
Mike’s flip-flops, size 11, died Tuesday, June 18, 2013.
‘My dad is so cool, he can jump really high. Higher than anyone else in the world,” one little girl said to another little girl, and it made me smile to hear the two of them debating their fathers’ cool factor in the line at the post office.
It’s happening again, I noticed just the other night. The luciferin is combining with adenosine triphosphate and making luciferyl adenylate and pyrophosphate on the surface of the luciferase enzyme.
Some people think that giving to charity means throwing coins into a bucket at Christmastime, writing a check each year, or leaving money behind after they are gone.
The loud bang startled me and made me jump. What just fell from behind the door? A bat. Another baseball bat. How many bats can one family have, I thought as I picked it up from where it had rolled on the hardwood floor.
There is a little something I’d like to address that’s been bugging me for quite some time — practically all of my life, if I really think about it.
I thought I was a good mother. After learning of the extraordinary feats of some other mothers, however, I gained a whole new respect for another mothering world — the four (and more) legged one.
I can’t prove it, but I’m pretty sure my dog thinks he’s better than me.
The move wasn’t far, just a few miles down the road to a two-story house framed in pretty greenery and with a little back patio all laid out in brick. It would be great, I thought.
"Guess what I saw today?” I ask no one in particular, simply voice out loud to the only two other people in the room at the time, my husband and my 15-year-old daughter. She sits curled on one end of the sofa, he on the other.
‘See, I told you, Mom,” the young man said as he held his mother by the arm and turned her around in my direction, not two feet from me and uncomfortably teetering on the cusp of my personal space.
I have learned many things in my lifetime, quite a few lessons that repeat themselves over and over again. One, however, never gets old. After 22 years of marriage, I still get a thrill out of seeing the look on my hubby’s face when I pick up a hammer.
The lady stood at the foot of the off ramp wearing blue jeans and a green flannel shirt. Her hair was pulled back from her face, free of make up or lipstick. She didn’t appear to be particularly young, or old either, for that matter.
The car in front of me slammed on brakes and I, just as quickly, slammed on brakes and instinctively flung my right arm out and across the passenger’s seat. This time there was no one sitting there whose life I was saving from being thrown into the dashboard, just my pocketbook.
‘I really like your boots,” I said as I walked past the little girl with a tousled muss of blonde curls and her mama, I assume, sitting on a bench in the hallway at work. “I wish I had some boots like that.”
The mistake was made. There was no turning back. “When are you due?” he asked as he settled into his chair. The words hung stagnant in the air, begging to crawl back into his mouth.