I’m fairly certain my dreams have a drug dealer.

What is it with dreams? Sleep is supposed to be an 8-hour window (mine’s never that long) when we rest, regenerate, and arise feeling as refreshed as the person in the Folger’s commercial who throws back the covers and stretches with a smile before jumping out of bed and heading to the kitchen to commence guzzling a gallon of java.

But it’s impossible for me to feel that good or do morning gymnastics ...

(photo credit: Smithsonian Institution www.postalmuseum.si.edu)

I’m old enough to remember needing to dial only four numbers to call someone. And when Zip Codes weren’t necessary.

Today, everyone requires numbers for everything we do.

Everything.

I’m actually old enough to remember not having a phone at all. I think I was in third grade when dad finally agreed to get one. Once it was installed, it seemed to be something we couldn’t live without.

But before it was put in, we seemed to do just fine. ...

If you grew up in the south, you could tell what your momma was about to make based on the bowl or casserole dish she had sitting on the kitchen counter.

You knew it was meatloaf if it was the long and tall metal pan. If it was a deep cast iron skillet, it was either going to be fried chicken or chicken potpie.

But, if we saw the big, swirly, green glass bowl, we knew were going to have banana pudding. ...

They call them seasons. I think that’s because each adds a specific type of sensory spice to that quarter of the year.

Summer should actually be called, “Simmer.” Winter should be called, “Chiller.” Spring is appropriately named since nature goes from dormant to an awakening that springs flowers into the air and pollen into our nostrils.

All things considered, fall is my favorite. Fall doesn’t seem to want anything from us. It just asks the waiter for the check and heads back ...

Photo Credit: columbophile.files.wordpress.com

Columbo is the best TV detective America has ever had.

That, of course, is my opinion, but I’m willing to speak on behalf of everyone else because I believe that I’m correct.

The Brits have Agatha Christie’s Poirot, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes.

But I argue that America’s Columbo is far superior.

Peter Falk, of whom I do a pretty spot on impersonation if I do say so myself, (which you can hear if you listen to my podcast version ...

I was in my 50s when I started my writing career. When most people were enjoying their newfound discounts at Denny’s and Cracker Barrel and planning for retirement, I was reinventing myself.

And I have my father to thank for this.

I speak at a lot of events in Texas, Arkansas, and other places they’ll have me. Civic organizations, corporate events, and other groups are always looking for speakers, and their invitations give me a chance to share the story of how ...

“Like many pals, Antonin Scalia and Ruth Bader Ginsburg could have a pretty good argument now and then, but not let it affect their close friendship.” – NPR’s All Things Considered. February 15, 2016

Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg died. As I write this, I’ve just heard the news. As you read this, some days have passed; but the impact of her departure is almost certainly still being assessed.

One of Justice Ginsburg’s best friends preceded her in death – her ...

Do signs really change anyone’s mind?

We must think that they do. We buy and put out a lot of them.

Some signs are intended to sway your way of thinking, while others are meant to be funny.

Sometimes, they’re meant to be the former, but wind up also being the latter. In other words, the intended message gets lost and winds up being amusing.

For example, when I was driving past the lake, I saw 59 Trump signs; 1 Biden sign; and 12 ...

The curling iron changed things. From the male perspective, not necessarily in a good way.

It’s the amusement of women’s approach to fixing their hair that men miss.

No doubt, the curling iron is efficient. A lady just plugs it into the wall, adjusts the heat, and curls her locks to her liking.

But as a son, brother of a sister, and a guy who dated in the 70s, I miss the orange juice cans, the pink spongy rollers that snapped when locked ...

Folks who aren’t from the South invariably aren’t familiar with grits. When they come for a visit, they often twist their eyebrows into a John Belushi-type look after they spot them on their breakfast plate.

I have kinfolk who live somewhere up close to Canada. They’ve missed out on one of life’s lovely pleasures by judging grits without actually trying them.

It’s time that the stigma was removed from this amazing delicacy. Let’s do that. We’ll start with a definition.

The online Merriam-Webster ...