Tuesday, April 28, 2026

I am the first to admit that sometimes I make a mess of things. I try to teach my kids that the best reaction is to 'fess up, take responsibility, fix what I can, learn from my mistakes and move on.

The first hint of spring brings big iron and big irony to the winter-rested Illinois prairie.

I remember as a child being obsessed with horses and the cowboy life. It consumed our play, it invaded our dreams.

Last week, a busload of Pennsylvania farmers visited three dairy farms in eastern Ohio as part of a dairy profitability tour.

To be invoked by all PTO parents, volunteer parents, and room mothers (and fathers and "significant others") among us.

Although my daughters are, for the most part, pretty good kids, and I shouldn't complain, I used to think no child rearing could be worse than my two little girls when they were fighting - until now that they are teens, they are both bigger than I am, and just as loud.

The scene, often repeated these bitterly political days, was straight out of Alice in Wonderland. On March 3, U.

Winter wind, howling in the depths of December prompts us to wish to retreat to the easy chair beside the fireplace, a cup of something warm and steaming nestled in our chilly hands.

I didn't set out to become a sell-out. I'm just saying. For the record and all. I had no intention of becoming an impersonal cog in the corporate machine.

A park pavilion covered the closest dry haven for the leggy teens who intermittently showed for practice.