Never before in all my born days have I been more grateful to be a middle-aged broad than this past week.
I'm Just Saying
It was only a few summers (three?) ago that I ruined Paul’s well-deserved afternoon off by hauling him from the couch and requesting both his emotional and physical support in a spot of goose wrang
‘I wonder,” I thought, pulling myself out of the slop in front of the manure pile beautifully cloaked in the snow of a recent winter storm, “how long it would take for Paul to come looking for me i
Having finally put up the tree with Bing Crosby serenading me from the stereo and feeling all cozily tucked up on the couch with a cup of tea, I wanted to write you a nice, cuddly, Christmas column
Paul has given me an ultimatum, and I don’t like it.
Holy cow! What was that? Oh, that’s right: Thanksgiving. I nearly missed it drowned out by the Christmas music playing since Halloween and the bombardment of holiday commercials on television.
Standing behind the kitchen island as I added milk to a mug of hot tea yesterday evening, the soft autumnal light ebbing through the storm door caught my eye and, entranced by the canopy of stained
As a woman (at least that’s what recent lab tests claim I am), I seem to have always known more about my truck engine or how to mow a slope on a tractor than my own body.
My column last week closed with the optimism of buying a new young prospect: a lovely filly, not yet started under saddle, that I felt so certain was destined to be mine that I arrived to the vetti