It seems there are so many things I get involved in that I really don’t have any control over at all, but I’m anxious to get back to my new endeavor at NHC.

Back in the good old days of maybe 80 or 90 years ago, every mama handmade most all Christmas decorations and rejoiced in being able to do so.

I’ve told you before about the hoboes who used to camp out at the big culvert under the railroad just a couple of hundred feet east of Bob’s house. In the summer there would sometimes be 20 or 25 hoboes living there.

Let me first tell you I guess I was providentially led to submit a couple of articles early not knowing I was to be in the emergency room at our hospital with a heart attack and pneumonia. And I still ain’t “up to snuff,” even after being to four more doctors and taking 11 prescription medic…

Like I told you recently, Kay’s cousin, Maybelle, no longer raises hogs, so I asked you to let me know where I could get some firsthand information concerning the making of cracklins.

I’ve written about the carnivals and all the circuses coming into town and even had a few lines about the hobo “jungle” where the guys who hopped on board the freight trains camped out at the big culvert under the rail tracks down about E Street.

When I watched the morning news June 25, I noticed at the bottom of the screen the next subject on the newscast was “Loudon County Earthquake.” Well, when its time came up there was not one word mentioned about our county.

I need to tell you more old time stories of how we lived and some of the things we did back then. Maybe it will bring back to you a few good memories and you can tell your grandkids about those. I know for a fact they would love to hear those.

As we celebrate the declaration of our independence from the British empire, it is important to remember the history behind the holiday. While much of the focus is on BBQ, ball games and fireworks, it is important to reflect on the real meaning of the day.

This should have been an additional part to last week’s column of my talk with Ted Deford, but I called him back too late for that, so here it is today.

In my last column, I wondered why there weren’t as many people placing flowers on graves as before. I used to help mama decorate the graves of her deceased family members.

Kay invited me to eat lunch with the group of ladies retired from Loudon’s Viskase plant who choose to call themselves The Golden Girls. There are only eight of them still active and all but one was able to attend.

At a time when our White House press secretary is hiding behind bushes to avoid facing the proverbial press corps fire and the president is seemingly more concerned — still — with obsessing over his popular vote defeat and lashing out at critics, recently calling them a “small group of faile…

Sometimes I think about the days of long ago. I wonder if you can recall all the wonderfully nice people from back then, too.

If one can say something laudatory about the man’s strained work behind the podium of doom at this juncture in the new administration, White House Press Secretary Sean Spicer has certainly been a trooper, twisting himself into rhetorical knots explaining away President Donald Trump’s latest …

I have rewritten twice already an article concerning my meeting a lady in Ingles, what that lady said and my telling about it at the assisted living group up at NHC where Kay and I go once a month to meet with them and talk about everyone’s good old days.

What else can I tell you about the good old days? If you are “one of those” who read these articles in the News-Herald, then you already know there ain’t a lot left that I ain’t told you about already that took place back in the “good old days” when we were growing up.

The last time I sat down to write for the News-Herald, I was facing some grim personal and medical circumstances: end stage lung disease, severe pulmonary hypertension, an indeterminate waiting period to receive a lung transplant — the countdown clock on my days ticking all the while — and t…

It just seems there are more and more things going on today than ever before. I can’t seem to get all my “ducks in a row” anymore and I do not know why.

I have topped having more than 400 of these articles printed and yet there seems to be more and more of them remaining to tell you about what happened “back in those good old days.” My first was printed in May 2008. Can you believe I’ve been at this for nearly nine years?

I ain’t sure, but I’m thinking I tried to write this story back a couple of days ago but I can’t find it on this stupid computer. I tried to tell you about the nice Cajun lady known to me only as “Cat Daddy’s Mama.” I have never met her face to face.

Sitting out here on my front porch in the warm sunshine — even in early February — makes me think of all those good old days way back then.

We boys never missed an out-of-town event we wanted to attend. We found if we stood alongside the highway and waved our closed hand with only the thumb extended up, there would soon be a motorist stop and ask if we wanted a ride.

It certainly seems no matter what race, creed or color your ancestry, you must have a traditional food for New Year’s Day to assure you’re having good health and to prosper during the new year.