“You’re 24-years-old. You really need to find a primary care doctor,” my wife said.

“But, there’s nothing wrong with me,” I responded. “Why go get something I don’t need?”

“You will one day,” she answered. “You need to establish a relationship with a single doctor who can take care of you for the rest of your life.”

It was the 1980s, and I was working, going to college, and raising a family. Her request just seemed like one more thing to add to ...

(photo: 1976 Ashdown High School Panther Eyes annual)

If you want to see what life was like and what a community was doing in any particular year, pull a copy of a high school annual from just about any hometown and look at the ads in the back.

Skip the senior portraits and the group photos of the Beta Club and the school choir. Look at the ads in the back of the annual.

That’s where the real story lies for how the ...

Photo credit: Jwilli74 Wikipedia

When I was little, every time I got sick, I was fairly certain that every medication the adults dispensed was designed to kill me.

Before the advent of all of the different drugs we’re blessed with today, every single thing a parent or grandparent needed to treat a sick kid could be found on one aisle at the Rexall Drug.

And it fit neatly between the Aqua Velva and the Brylcreem behind the mirrored-door medicine cabinet, located above the ...

Each time we have a significant weather event, it seems to turn into a contest for storytelling. Each person tries to top the current weather with a story of another one they lived through that was far worse.

But, during the winter storm that everyone in the state of Texas, and many or most in Arkansas, Louisiana, and other southern states stumbled through, I heard very few people trying to top what we were experiencing.

Phrases such as, “I don’t ever remember ...

Most of us have a box or other container where we keep items we feel are important enough to carry with us throughout our lives. Mine is a cardboard box. It includes things that might not mean much to others, but do to me.

I call it my, “Life Box.”

I don’t see my life box very often. Most of the time, it sits on a shelf unless I’m looking for something that’s in it, I’m adding something to it, or we’re ...

(Note: In a previous column, I requested recipes for homemade biscuits. Boy, did I get them. Thank you to everyone who shared their recipes. Some dated back over 100 years to great grandmothers, while others came from the packaging of flour bags. At the end of today’s column, I’ve included one that was particularly fascinating and tasty. ~ John)

(Today’s column on paper towels comes with a nod to Andy Rooney)

Do you ever wonder why they couldn’t just leave paper towels ...

My father would load my sister and me into his ‘52 Chevy truck, and he’d steer down the gravel road leading to the homestead where my mom was raised.

The radio played Loretta Lynn and Faron Young as the wind whipped through the cab. Dad would shift the three-on-the-tree and the 6-cylinder hummed as we headed to our destination.

We were on our way to pick blackberries.

My mother’s parents raised their six children on a homestead in the unincorporated county community of Fomby, Arkansas.

It’s ...

Please forgive me, for I have become biscuit backslidden.

I’ve become lazy.

If my grandmothers and great grandmothers were still here, they’d be ashamed. They’d send me out of the kitchen to the back yard to fetch a switch.

My entire family heritage was on the line, and I’ve failed.

I have committed the ultimate Southern sin.

I’m eating canned biscuits.

Not only am I eating canned biscuits, I’m eating them as if it’s OK to be eating canned biscuits. As if it’s normal. As if ...

Nixon was in the White House and Scooby Doo was on our school lunch boxes. It was 1969. For a kid, life was good.

Those of us in Mrs. Pauley’s second-grade class at Burke Street Elementary were fairly oblivious to the tumultuous time our country was experiencing, but we were completely aware of what was on Saturday morning television. And it was great.

But, a recent scan of the Saturday morning TV dial revealed a glaring omission. Cartoons.

I mean, real cartoons. Like ...

One of neatest feelings of youth was saving up enough money to buy that next record you wanted.

Yes, I said record. Vinyl. It was a circular disc, which required a record player (or turntable – depending on how fancy you wanted to sound) to be able to hear your purchase.

If you had a dollar, you could purchase the latest hit 45-rpm single for .79¢ plus tax. If you had $4.99, you could buy the latest album by your favorite artist.

Some ...