When I was 9, I got into a fight with a kid across the street. I don’t recall what started it, other than it was related to a 45 RPM copy of “Joy To The World” by Three Dog Night.

Families didn’t used to take the volume of photographs that we do now. The cameras of decades ago made it cost prohibitive to shoot the number of pictures we do today.

I thought the cast iron skillet my mom cooked virtually every meal in when I was a child was her favorite. I now know that she cooked with it because it was the only skillet she had.

If there’s anything crueler than insomnia, it’s insomnia topped with a weakness for cooking gadgets sold on 3 a.m. infomercials.

Ironically, the year America celebrated its 200th birthday and independence from England, it was a British rock star who held the No. 1 spot on the American rock album charts for 10 weeks.

Each time we have a significant weather event, it seems to turn into a contest for storytelling. Each person tries to top the current weather with a story of another weather incident they lived through that was far worse.

Most of us have a box or other container where we keep items we feel are important enough to carry with us throughout our lives. Mine is a cardboard box. It includes things that might not mean much to others, but do to me.

My father would load my sister and me into his ‘52 Chevy truck, and he’d steer down the gravel road leading to the homestead where my mom was raised.

In my previous column, I mentioned my resolution to help others during the New Year. Some readers felt that resolutions were a waste of time, while others felt resolutions are admirable, but not sustainable.

In my previous column, I mentioned my resolution to help others during the New Year. Some readers felt that resolutions were a waste of time, while others felt resolutions are admirable, but not sustainable.

When trying to decide on a 2021 resolution on how to improve myself, a thought that had popped into my head recently came back to the forefront.

The ways of the South are not the ways of the rest of the country. I’ve never been to New York City, but from what I hear, the folks there say exactly what they think.

The days after Thanksgiving. When married men go to the ER for a new cast from falling off the roof while installing the Christmas decorations their wives insist on, and single men sit around in their underwear watching sports and consuming adult beverages.

When we moved into our house several years ago, it was during the month of June. A scruffy tree with small green leaves was blocking our view of the pond. I said I was going to cut it down.

If you grew up in the South, you could tell what your momma was about to make based on the bowl or casserole dish she had sitting on the kitchen counter.

I was in my 50s when I started my writing career. When most people were enjoying their newfound discounts at Denny’s and Cracker Barrel, I was reinventing myself. Even though I didn’t know it at the time.

“Like many pals, Antonin Scalia and Ruth Bader Ginsburg could have a pretty good argument now and then, but not let it affect their close friendship.”

The curling iron changed things. From the male perspective, not necessarily in a good way.

Folks who aren’t from the South invariably aren’t familiar with grits. When they come for a visit, they often twist their eyebrows into a John Belushi-type look after they spot them on their breakfast plate.

Charlie is 7. Part Basset and part Beagle, he was placed in an animal shelter. Not once, but twice. That means he went through three different homes.

Writers do what we do because we are unable to not do it. In spite of our efforts, most who write for a living can best be described with one word: broke.

I remember it as clearly as yesterday. There it was in my Weekly Reader: “By the year 2000, the United States and the rest of the world will be using the metric system.”

When I was a kid, things didn’t break as often as they do now. If you bought something at Sears Lawn and Garden, you needed to run over it with an 18-wheeler to render it nonfunctional.

The yards had been mostly vacant on the street around the corner from our house, save for the tricycles, small bikes and other toddler transportation.

Rush Limbaugh single-handedly revived AM radio. In 1988, his syndicated talk show brought people back to a place they had left for the FM dial.