Opinion

Strolling down memory lane

The cover story for the May Atlantic by Neal Gabler titled “The Secret Shame of the Middle Class” references a 2013 Federal Reserve Board survey that found 47 percent of respondents would have trouble finding $400 to cover an emergency expense. The article’s author confesses he is among that number.

The article resulted in several other commentaries written about it this week.

Riding out the storm with Sally

My friends Wanda June and Leonard have a visitor for a few months. Their daughter has dropped off her aging German shepherd female while her family moves to Italy for a short-term military assignment. Sally, the dog, is very mild-mannered and gentle dog who sheds like a tornado at wheat harvest, drools during naps, and doesn’t like to sleep alone. She’s been in the family for years, coming to visit at Christmas with the family, and always present for the children’s birthday parties. She loves chicken bones, pizza crusts, and Leonard’s chair.

My, how we rant on

Asking folks to stop and think seems pointless these days. Most won’t.

A while back, I stopped momentarily when an overheard conversational snippet made me smile. Someone said, “Too much is being said these days far too often about far too little.”

Maybe closer examination of the statement is warranted. It may come close to painting a picture of a muddled world bombarded daily by noise by the ton and meaningful articulation by the ounce….

Environmentalists change tactics

The public’s image of environmental groups has long been one of “little old ladies in tennis shoes” who are committed to protecting such things as baby seals.

The public perceives their actions to be admirable, and believes they will have little adverse impact on the lives of the public at large.

That image, while still prevalent in the minds of many Americans, doesn’t really describe the environmental activists of today, who are well funded and politically connected within the highest levels of government.

Comfort in a “small” world

My feet are ample. That’s a nice way to put it. They are a sturdy base, a firm under-standing, an anchor in the storm, and a wonderment to behold. Of course, I haven’t always felt this way. I didn’t like my feet as a girl. By the time I was eleven, I’d outgrown mother’s shoes, could easily fit in my dad’s, and was destined to never find a man because my grandmother, who wore a size five, said that the first thing my grandfather noticed about her was her dainty little feet. 

Getting back to the basics

There are many lost arts and skills my grandparents had that I don’t. The one I am most envious of is their knowledge of gardening. I spent a fair amount of time in my grandparents and parents gardens growing up — planting seeds, hoeing  weeds, picking vegetables, but I did not come away with a huge amount of know-how when it comes to doing it myself.
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