Thanksgiving will be quiet around the Woolsey table this year. Because of COVID, our kids will not fly in from different time zones or far reaches of the state. People outside our regular bubble will not pass the stuffing across the table or ask for seconds of my wife’s fabulous green bean c…
Recently, a younger person asked me what common traits I thought successful people held and practiced.
I am the child of an immigrant who came to this country to embrace the opportunity to vote. She was so proud that she forever displayed the small American flag presented to her the day of her naturalization and swearing-in ceremony.
Today, there are roughly 18 million veterans in the United States. And to them, we owe a tremendous debt of gratitude, one we can never expect to repay with a designated day each year.
I’m learning that being musically inclined is often a matter of opinion.
A man is armed with a handful of paper towels and a squirt bottle.
A tall wooden chalkboard stops me in my tracks. The letters are colorful, deeply emotional. A silent voice speaks to me loudly from the dusty text.
My friend approached with his dog at his side.
I don’t need a gull-winged, stainless-steel sports car with a flux capacitor bolted to the rear to experience time travel. The magic of music is my chariot.
She didn’t need to say yes. Looking around, I could see dozens of better choices than me. But, for some reason, she agreed to a date.
“You know,” said a neighbor, “if people were a bit more like dogs, the world could be a better place.”
2020 is a strange trip around the sun worthy of leaving the Grateful Dead’s Jerry Garcia shaking his head and spinning in his grave.
In case you’ve not heard, Apple’s new iOS is pushing back against Facebook to protect your privacy. And if you consider these are two of the largest and most influential companies on the planet, we ought to pay attention.
The blue ink pen was resting on the carpet below; my arm froze in midair.
I’m five hours on the road and call back to hear my wife’s voice. Heading out before the sun peeked over the horizon, I’d tried to slip out quietly. My watch tells me I’m calling during her morning coffee window.
As publisher of The Daily News, I receive lots of reader notes. Many as beautiful as spring roses, others prickly as thorns. I love to hear from the community and have learned a great deal along the way.
A young man wearing a protective black bandanna walks across the restaurant to take our order. My wife and I are in a once-bustling mining community in West Texas; now, a locally claimed ghost town.
Summer always brings to memory a phrase my mother would say to me and my brother.
Wednesday I had lunch with the last man on the planet who is not on social media.
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