You can only push me so far. I do not wish to offend any mouse advocates, but this gang from Franktown Road became more and more egregious in their attacks on my personal freedom. For most of the winter, I didn’t mind sharing my Toyota Highlander and taking them around …
This is a sticky question. As I age, I may need to cut back. Two of my good friends keep their personal lives close to the vest. I don’t pry, but their lack of sharing limits the level of our relationship. Recently, a corporation asked me to consult with them and then kept …
I bumped into a young woman a few days ago. My head was down, following a band of marching black ants who were on a mission of importance, I’m sure. She was talking on her cellphone. Neither of us were hurt. I was embarrassed. She was amused. She asked her mom to hang on …
Dear Eddie, I couldn’t get you out of my mind last night, big brother. This letter is long overdue. You left us on Christmas Day 15 years ago. Near your final hour, I bent over and whispered, “I forgive you.” Those three words have haunted me ever since. I should have said, …
Those of you who follow my blog know one of my favorite playgrounds is the Costco store in Carson City. I do sophisticated research funded by my alma mater, The Hiram Scott College. If you wish to fund this vital work, I only take cash delivered in black waterproof garbage …
Nigel J. Wiggins is approaching 80 (in dog years). Me too (in people years). Nigel J. Wiggins has spinal stenosis and a bunch of old man stuff. Me too. Nigel J. Wiggins slowly let go of his alpha role with his pack. Me too. Nigel J. Wiggins can’t see the deer on the …
Dark. Snow. Wind, powerful blasts. Jet dances dangerously. Me, a Southwest veteran. He, a frightened man. A first time, old timer. Eyes closed tight. Me, reaching a trembling hand. He, latches tight. Plane lands hard. Passengers sigh and cheer Our eyes connect. We …
We can split groups of people in many ways: gender, age, social class, political preference, education, and on and on. One of my old buddies, Mike, and I, both sneaking up on 80, got to thinking of friends we’ve known, splitting them up as risk-takers or …
“Never give up” is my message, hidden in an almost-true story. I never could dance. In seventh grade at Saint Cecilia Elementary School, I was forced into a dance class with real girls. The most basic dance was called the box step. I just made a square box while …
A few years ago, I asked in a blog post what was the silliest, most embarrassing thing you did while growing up. I only received a couple dozen responses. My guess is that most people don’t wish to remember those special moments, even after decades have passed by. My …
