When I turned 6, all I wanted for Christmas was snow. We’d just moved into our new house, it was three months until Christmas, and I’d never seen the white stuff before.

A steep slope that bellied out into a long flat area, our backyard would make the perfect sled run. Magically, that winter I got my wish. Read More»

Normally by this time of the year, I’ve exhausted all the topics that cause me to jump up on my soapbox and pontificate. I can relax, pen a few lighthearted articles, and slide right on into the New Year. But with only four more columns ‘til 2012, I find I must pull out my soapbox and stand upon it one last time. There’s still more pontificating that needs to be done and, after all, it is my soapbox. Read More»

Few have reached the age of 100 unblemished by time and circumstances. My life has now spanned over three generations, and there’s really no telling how much longer I’ll be around. They say I’ve never looked better, but I know the truth. I’ve faded somewhat, have a crack and a chip. Even so, I’ve been more fortunate than most.

Over the years a few mishaps have taken some of my brothers completely from me. Oh sure, they’ve been replaced quickly. The replacement of a piece of fine china is easy nowadays. But the replacement of generations of holiday memories – that’s impossible. Read More»

Suddenly, I couldn’t catch my breath. As muscles in my arms tightened, my hands gripped the steering wheel. Childhood fears of grease paint, bulbous red noises, and floppy giant shoes came rushing back in a torrent almost smothering me in a sea of emotion.

About a mile down the street was the undeniable red and white striped canvas. Huge poles stretched the canvas skyward into four pinnacles. It could only mean one thing. The circus was back in town.

With it, I’m sure, came a miniature car full of those hideous clowns. Read More»

The sheets slowly rise and fall next to me. The Wife is peacefully asleep. Our two cats are down for the night. They say if you can’t rest, you have something on your mind. I must, because I can’t.

Usually it’s worrying about money (or the lack thereof) that is the thief of my slumber, but not this time. It’s something much more important. Read More»

It was there the entire time we lived at 110 Flamingo Street. No matter how many times we tried to get rid of it, the thing always seemed to return. With each move we made, Mom thought we were finally going to be free, but after only a few months in the new house, it found us once again.

No one really claimed ownership. Mom said it all belonged to Dad. Dad said it wasn’t his, that it belonged to everyone. Looking back, I now know differently. The rightful owner of the dreaded drawer in the kitchen was me. Read More»

All night, I tossed and turned. Thoughts of what soon would be mine kept running through my head. I’d waited six long months for this moment, and gazing sleepily at the clock on the dresser, I saw the day had finally arrived. The new toy would soon be in my hands – guaranteed to provide hours of entertainment. Read More»

The stock market was about to take another dive, and this time I didn’t want to go down with it, but what to do?

At stake was my small retirement fund. I don’t have many more years to work, and I certainly can’t afford to lose any of it. Then again I can’t afford to pull it out in a declining market.

I saw it all coming about four months ago. So, how did I have such clear insight to the impending crash? Why, I just listen to the voice in my head.

I call him Fred. Read More»

Normally, I’m a happy kinda guy, and for good reason. Cool weather has chased the gray and black cat from the window sill back onto my lap. She takes up residence there during the winter when I write.

Our big black lab with the big black nose is acting like a puppy once again. Not bad for a puppy who’s 88 in human years.

And after 13 years, The Wife, she still loves me. I know; it doesn’t make much sense to me either, but she does. For this I’m eternally grateful. So what could possibly upset our perfect, happy little world? Read More»

Finished with the morning walk, the old man slowly sat down on the one of eight wooden benches bordering the emerald grassy courtyard. The artificial knee was supposed to put an end to his leg pain, but it wasn’t living up to what the surgeon had claimed.

The seasons were changing, or at least that’s what he thought, because his leg was aching something terrible. Or maybe it was a storm rolling in or he had overdone his walk again, or perhaps it was all three.

He sighed and rubbed the 10-year-old scar. If he were honest, the knee hurt all the time. Read More»