Remember When

One hot summer afternoon, our mailman showed up on the porch with the Fall and Winter catalog from Sears, Roebuck and Co.The best part of its arrival was that the honor of tearing off the brown wrapping belonged to me.I ripped the covering off, opened it and held it close to my face to smell the pages that were crammed full of all kinds of good stuff.Then, a sign straight from heaven gates descended down to our kitchen table.Bless Pete, it was a bona fide miracle; the pages fell open to the bicycle section.There in color – wa

I recall reading somewhere that fishing is now a sport. That’s not necessarily the case.It can’t be very sporting for the fish unless he is as big as Jaws.As boys, we didn’t have to worry about size, too much and we sure didn’t have to worry about the limit. To me, this fishing was never the fun part. Getting ready to go, was.I didn’t have to worry about running down to the nearby bait shop, either.

I recently read a newspaper article about this fella who sits on his front porch in all kinds of weather and just waves to motorists.I liked the story; it was a good, but it was a bit unusual these days and times.Why?Cause folks don’t normally speak to strangers.Sometimes, that doesn’t make much sense; they will remain strangers unless no one makes a casual effort to speak or at least nod their head in acknowledgment.You know, I’ve been told more than once told that I sorta go overboard on the “howdy”

Try as I may, I just can’t put my fingers on King Solomon’s words in Proverbs that describe just how sweet it is to recover something that you lost.Seeing how I’ve never been at a loss of words, that notion isn’t going to leave me speechless.I’ll paraphrase it.“Oh, behold the joys of 9 to 5.”Most plowboys (and girls) my age worked 40 years or more before hanging up the old plowshare (or it was hung up for us).More than once during those 14,600 days at the grindstone, I dreamed of retiring t