There’s nothing quite as enjoyable as spending a spring evening fishing. At least that’s what Mark says. But then, he practically grew up with a fishing pole over his shoulder. I grew up with a book bag over mine.
Statistics show that 73% of older adults develop a weird fascination with birds.
When I’m in the mood for a home renovation project but we lack the money or time to start one, I turn to the second-best option: painting a room.
Who needs humorist Dave Barry when we have our own funnier Jessie Raymond? Every column she writes nails our life in these times.
Inflation is crazy right now. As expected, it’s hitting groceries and gas. I had no idea, however, that the cost of bears would go up so much.
These are the times that try humor columnists’ souls.
When it comes to humans and cats, we all know who’s in charge. In our house it’s our gray shorthair, Lily.
I’ve recently returned to my newest and, at the moment, least favorite hobby: weaving.
The tight fit limits my mobility; even the most basic movements, such as reaching across my chest to put on my seatbelt, become full-body workouts. I once hit my target heart rate just trying to close the back hatch on the car.
This Christmas, Mark got me the world’s greatest gift: a metal detector.
It was Saturday, Nov. 27. I asked Mark to take a circuitous route, so people wouldn’t suspect where we were going. He declined, instead driving straight to the Christmas tree farm.
All I needed were a couple of snapshots of me wearing the pullover I had just finished knitting.
The way I remember it, I did not choose to be my husband’s barber. I am, as I made clear on Saturday, in no way qualified for the job.
Let me preface it by saying that I am fully aware that I’m aging.
This past spring, I fell victim to a diabolical scheme. All because our kitchen table now sits near a glass door, far from our woodstove.
