I am in the midst of decluttering the house. When I started several weeks ago, I carefully sorted the clutter: Read the full story
Last week, I was talking with a friend about something that had been put together in a slapdash fashion, and I opened my mouth to say the word “jury-rigged,” but then I panicked and thought maybe that wasn’t right so I said “jerry-rigged” instead. Read the full story
The guinea pig joined the family in 2013. He was a Christmas gift for my then-12-year-old son. The real gift was that we trusted him to be responsible enough to take care of a guinea pig. Read the full story
The son is leaving for his first year of college, and I spent his last week at home making his favorite foods. Parmesan-garlic chicken with penne pasta. Homemade meatballs. Pancakes. Bacon. A different kind of ice cream every day. (Oh wait, the ice cream was for me.) Read the full story
Last week, I was talking with a friend about something that had been put together in a slapdash fashion, and I opened my mouth to say the word “jury-rigged,” but then I panicked and thought maybe that wasn’t right so I said “jerry-rigged” instead.
The guinea pig joined the family in 2013. He was a Christmas gift for my then-12-year-old son. The real gift was that we trusted him to be responsible enough to take care of a guinea pig.
The son is leaving for his first year of college, and I spent his last week at home making his favorite foods. Parmesan-garlic chicken with penne pasta. Homemade meatballs. Pancakes. Bacon. A different kind of ice cream every day. (Oh wait, the ice cream was for me.)
Most every afternoon at work, I tuck a dollar and a quarter in my pocket and head downstairs to the break room to get a $1.25 pack of peanut M&Ms out of the vending machine.
When I look back over my long history as a homeowner, sometimes all I can see is a string of broken relationships.
Barbie turns 60 this year, which is causing a certain amount of hoopla.
The other day I had to look up how to spell “hip-hop.” Not the “hip” or the “hop” parts. I could handle those, thank you very much. But was there a space or a hyphen in the middle?
OF COURSE THEY’LL BELIEVE ME, WHY WOULDN’T THEY?
It’s not really summer until the heat bugs sing.
I was cleaning out the basement recently and unearthed a box labeled “STAMPS.” I was puzzled for a moment. Why would I have a big box of stamps?
Jumpin’ juniper! It’s the last day of June already! I thought this month would never end.
Back when spring was new, I kept hearing a strange tapping, tapping outside my bedroom window. It sounded like a woodpecker pecking on the side of the house, except that we have vinyl siding.
I do love me some ice cream, but I have some concerns.
Now that it’s turned hot and sunny out there, the weather forecast maps have gotten really boring.
If a captain orders you to examine something closely, the appropriate response is, “Aye, I eye!”
When I was 9 years old, like many children my age, I started writing letters to famous people.
The Anniston Star recently moved into new offices. We didn’t move far — just to the other side of the building — but it’s been an adjustment.
The other night I stopped by the bakery to get a little something sweet (because my doctor has put the kibosh on large-sized sweets). The bill came to only $1.09, and I took the opportunity to rid myself of some pennies.
Like the broken drain pump wasn't enough?
Me: Ow, all of my joints hurt!
I’ve been writing this column a long time, and over the years I have learned to take notes when funny things happen in my house.
With the success of Marie Kondo’s new Netflix series on how to declutter/un-fire-hazard your home, I thought I should try tidying something. Kondo’s idea is that you can find zen if you only keep things that spark joy.
Me: [ standing in front of the microwave waiting for lunch to heat up ]
How do I love thee? Let me text the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my thumbs can reach …
