Boy Two had found four large mirrors at his dad’s office and had schlepped them home.  “What in the world?” I’d said, finding them atop the dryer.  He’d grinned

Of mountains.  Of miracles.  Of Monday papers.  Of great, big dreams and a time tomove.  That’s what’s on my mind this morning. It’s column day today.  Driving to the coffee

It was Lee, our friend from church who’d burst energetically into our lives some years back.  An empty nester, she’d adopted us, pulling us right into her heart and life,

There’s no picket fence, and the birds that twitter overhead are the same ones that poo on the car down below.  Whose owner, by the way, does not “heart” that. 

“Laughter is an instant vacation.”  You’re right, Milton Berle. “I’m thankful for laughter except when milk comes out of my nose.”  That’s true, Woody Allen. “Dogs laugh, but they laugh

Holy smoke and good grief!  If I’d’ve had a klue as to what all was involved, I might’ve signed up to be a pet groomer instead.  Or a taxi driver

There’s some jockeying for the lead, so to speak, and the privilege of wearing the proverbial jersey.  Then you remember the peloton, that pack of crumb crunchers behind you, and

For instance, one Saturday night we were slumbering peacefully when we were startled awake by a loud beeping noise.  Was it a large dump truck preparing to back over the

I remember well the wedding of her parents.  As our own Boy Two squirmed, thrilled, in his small, rented tux, tracing the alphabet in the carpet down in front, my

Who says I can’t write a good mystery? Call me the Tom Brokaw, the Shepard Smith of our household, but I take my reporting duties very seriously.  As soon as