Looking back through the months of this year I can’t help but feel robbed.
Most of us have a competitive side. At least, I do. Losing at anything makes me want to try harder. My brain goes into overdrive. It becomes imperative that I understand what mistake I made and what I need to do differently to change the outcome.
As we approach what some are calling the “dark winter” of this pandemic, I can only hope it is our one and only such winter. Like so many others, I’m hopeful that the Pfizer vaccine, the Johnson and Johnson vaccine, or whatever vaccine may follow, is indeed the magic bullet.
I have a friend named Ben. He’s in his 70s, is retired from a successful career, and leads a busy, fulfilling life. He’s endured a couple of health setbacks during the past ten years, including a cancer scare, but he has bounced back well. When we chatted recently, he asked, “Dave, how’re ya…
I guess the end of year holidays are my favorite. They come so closely together, and instead of rushing straight to Christmas I like to savor the moments of all the individual days and what they have to offer.
There are some things we can't say out loud. Perhaps no one should say them out loud. This pandemic is just as bad as advertised. People have suffered in every conceivable way, from routine inconveniences to losing loved ones.
I've been trying hard not to write about politics. We're two weeks from the presidential election, and it's almost impossible to escape. The birds outside my window are unusually chirpy, and I'm sure they're going at it over Trump's taxes or Biden's Supreme Court plans.
I guess I don’t feel much like writing anything these days. When I write all of my thoughts turn to politics and illness and how they are intertwined. I’d rather just sit on the porch and stare at my Cottonwood tree.
In my attempt at a humor column loosely related to the first presidential debate, I learned a lesson. I angered two groups of people: those who thought I should have blamed Trump, and those who thought I should have blamed Biden.
“Shut up, man.” “This guy is a clown.” “This guy is not smart.”
If that sounds like a scripted scene from Saturday Night Live, then you must have been visiting the space station last week during the presidential debate.
During the summer between seventh and eighth grade a few of my friends and I attended a summer program. It was like school in the summer, only we got personal pan pizza from Pizza Hut one day a week.
I was about to start writing about this squirrel I saw in my backyard. It was the cutest little fella, and we were just staring each other down, and then I got a text message. It was from one of my editors.
We have all had the unfortunate experience of attending a funeral where there is tension and discord among some of the people who are present. This side is not speaking to that side and both sides choose to air their dirty laundry over the deceased.
I used to say that politics was my football. I don’t give a single care about football. Never have, and don’t understand people who go crazy over it to the point that I often feel they are just faking. But I’ve always loved keeping up with politics. And I’ve gone crazy over them a time or two.
Here in Alabama, we love football. Good games, bad games, ugly games. None of that matters when our teams take the field. If it is fall, it is time to play some football.
In my job as an education reporter, I frequently hear from parents and teachers complaining about overcrowded classrooms. These days, that usually means 25 or more students at a time. I don't argue the point. The smaller the class size, the better, in every way.
I was grabbing a couple of sausage biscuits and witnessed a couple of old codgers arguing over their coffee. One was a bit on the heavy side, with wild hair and a loud voice. The other was silver-haired, more soft-spoken, and would occasionally seem to lose his train of thought.
I had my first Saturday morning out and about in town in as long as I can remember this weekend. It may have been the first one this year. I was excited for it because I haven’t been clothes shopping for little sister in an actual store since she was born
Some Americans have spent the last two weeks watching their respective parties hold political conventions to officially nominate their candidate of choice. Now the business of voting can begin.
2020 has been the Edsel of years. For those who are too young to understand that ancient reference, it has been the New Coke of years. Am I still going back too far? Okay, it's been the Google Glass of years. There, I've covered every generation who may read this column. For all of us, the common thread is anger.
I sat down with Ron Latimer earlier this week to talk about how things are going. It still feels a little strange walking in the Scottsboro Police Department and not seeing or shaking hands with Ralph Dawe.
Up until a few days ago I’d been living in a fog that rarely lifted for several months. Just before COVID made its way into our lives here in the United States, my thyroid troubles returned.
I like to point out how often I have been wrong in my career. It humbles me. Lord knows, we reporters have been humbled often recently. When we make mistakes, our readers point it out on social media within seconds. I am okay with that. We get a little high and mighty, so it never hurts to get taken down a notch or two.