It’s becoming a sadly common experience lately — being made to feel foolish for not possessing mind-reading skills when attempting to conduct a transaction.
Generally, I need no help from others to embarrass myself. I have a lifetime of experience at this. I can not only tangle both of my left feet, but also have one foot in my mouth at the very same time.
Mine has been a life of many regrets. When there’s been a fork in my road, I have almost always headed off the wrong way. I recently made yet another dumb move. It seemed right at the moment. I’m certain now it was not.
Tina Sirianni has been one of my closest friends ever since she moved in next door when I still lived in Teays Valley.
Our neighbor, two doors over, built a treehouse in his yard, down by the creek.
Don seldom calls when I’m at work, but he was simply too excited to wait.
I arrived in Ohio the middle of last week to watch my parents while my brother and his wife left town for a bit.
I’m not sure how the song came to be stuck in my head. I hadn’t been listening to oldies; hadn’t thought of the song in decades. But there, between my ears, was Anne Murray, belting out her ‘83 hit on seemingly endless repeat.
It was a most-welcome sign of life returning to normal — a giant, outside flea market on a beautiful May Saturday morning. Even better, it was the day after payday, and we lucked into a parking spot close to the front.
For decades, I’ve been collecting quotes, tacking them one atop another on my bulletin board. Digging through the layers can be like trying to read my own memoir, only cryptic, as I sometimes puzzle to recall what was happening in my life that caused a quote to resonate enough to be saved.
I recently wrote about those times when life offers an opportunity to deliver a clever retort, and asked readers to share a few of their own.
I never went to Rutgers, but one of my favorite sweatshirts suggests that I did. It’s a bright red hoodie, bought secondhand, that features a knight stabbing his sword through the T.
While reading a how-to article about developing characters when writing a story, I ran across a Maya Angelou quote that wedged itself in my head.
An old friend recently shared a situation he found himself in and asked for advice.
A few years back, I met a friend for dinner at Chili’s Grill at the Town Center Mall. It was a perfect summer night, so we opted to eat at one of the tables outside.
“What does it say about technology that I’m now starting my days being told I’ve displeased my toothbrush?”
When I sat down at my computer, I intended to write about a new technology issue. This I attempted while a squirrel dangled upside down like a bat from my elbow. Moments earlier, this same squirrel had shoved a wet dish rag down the neck of my hoodie.
Over the years, I’ve been asked why I kept the surname Fuller, even though we weren’t married all that long and had no children together. To be honest, I kept it because my maiden name, Tauscher, is difficult for people to spell, much less pronounce. And the name game was aggravating enough …
I had finished the book I was reading, had no lingering work to complete, and Don was chasing a deadline, so would be tied up for hours. It was late enough not to want to start a new project of my own, so I snuggled into bed with the remote control.
My best friend, Anna James, likes to start the New Year by choosing a word that represents what she wants to cultivate in her life. Among those she’s chosen in the past are “creativity” and “habits.”
By the time these words reach your paper, my nest will once again be empty. My girl will have moved, this time to a small town just outside of Charlotte. Celeste has a new job lined up, which she’ll be starting in January. She has a great little apartment waiting for her with one of her best…
I promise this space won’t be perpetually filled with stories of squirrels, but after my last, I received a few emails I just had to share.
This year for Halloween, Don made a giant spider out of painted pool noodles and exercise balls, secured it to our roof, and then made a life-sized person, which he wrapped in synthetic webbing and hung from our gutter.
A few readers have asked for an update on the baby squirrel we found days before leaving on a two-week trip to my brother’s house. When we first came upon the little guy, he had been trapped in a storage building and was badly dehydrated. But since the wildlife rescue groups we reached out t…
