Warmest Regards

The other day I was driving the Interstate, sticking to the 70 mile per hour speed limit.

I love men. Men of a certain age, that is.

Forgive me for stereotyping. I know no stereotype holds true for everyone.

Last week an article in The Wall Street Journal caught my eye. The attention-grabbing headline read: Why Italian Moms Are the Best.

It is said that everyone has a book somewhere inside of them.

I did a story last week about a Florida man who grew up wishing he could play tennis.

My husband and I enjoy most of the same activities.

Did you ever notice the January hypocrisy of so-called women's magazine?

My husband wishes I were more of a football fan so I would sit with him to watch NFL games.

I like the start of each New Year.

I like to think each January gives me a clean slate.

Every night it tries to snare me into its traps.

"It" is a well-known villain and I should stay away.

Many years ago when I was covering a small community for a weekly newspaper it was my responsibility to fill an entire section with community news.

For years I've pondered a mystery that plagues me more as each year passes: Why does time fly by faster when we're older?