This past weekend was a big event, and a memorable one, for certain.
The parents of my good friend Cindy celebrated 50 years of marriage, and there was a party big enough to mark it.
Ancient people cleaned their clothes by pounding them on rocks or rubbing them with abrasive sands and washing the dirt away in local streams.
Had I known my professional life would center on chronicling the takeover of global ag business by global ag business, I would have listened more closely to Professor Lyle P.
“Should we rent the marquee at the cinema or a lettered sign on a trailer?”
“Let’s compare prices.”
Later, after we checked, “The marquee is almost a hundred dollars for one week.
My son, Cort, has become friends with a girl who is visiting here from Japan this school year.
He told us that he is teaching her fun English slang words, and she is enjoying every minute of it.
Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?
Since daylight-saving time began anew last weekend, I can’t say that I do.
It’s 10 o’clock. Do you know where your manure is?
Whether you own one horse or 500 Holsteins, it is your job to move, handle, store and manage manure responsibly.
Our high school band enjoyed a chartered bus trip to Toronto in March. My senior, Jo, was included, although she’s not part of the band but has several friends who are.
Just a week ago, we had the joy of welcoming a young couple with a sweet little baby to our home.
As I was making a fuss over the baby, the young mother told me my optimism and enthusiasm was exactly what she needed to hear.
Am I mistaken, or wasn’t watching too much television once considered to be a bad idea?
Didn’t people lie about how much time they spent watching Dallas?
Can we not recall that once there was a golden time in America when “couch potato” was an insult?
Now? I’m ashamed to be among decent people because I have nothing to say about Survivor.