Opinion

It’s amazing how quickly time passes. The older we get, the more we realize just how valuable time is.

I hope my “stuff” today gives you food for thought. This past week I had the privilege of officiating a funeral for a friend’s brother.

lone shooting star a late night worth the wait _____________ traffic jam incessant honking from a mallard .

Dear Reader, There have been a number of fatal auto accidents on the route of the newspapers I manage, from Runnels County to Erath County. The holidays are almost here but you can’t celebrate them if you aren’t here.

The road was long and never ending and I wasn’t making much headway. When I topped the small crest, the valley unfolded before me, and my heart jumped. I don’t really know what I was expecting, maybe just hoping answers would be revealed there. But then again, the travel had been long and tedious, and fatigue had set in days ago.

The holidays are some of the sweetest days of the year. Or they’re supposed to be. After all, we get to connect with our extended families, and it’s often the only time we see some of them. Though we may look forward to sharing a meal and watching the big game with those we love, we may also feel some anxiety. Just because we share DNA with our relatives doesn’t mean we share anything else in common.

For too long, the American people have dealt with liberal policies destroying their freedoms, safety, and economic security. Republicans have a plan for a new direction for the country and are the best bet to fix the disasters created under the one-party Democrat rule in Washington. In a Republican majority, we will bring forward solutions that secures the border, curbs wasteful spending, supports Main Street America, and puts America’s best interests first. Our plan creates a new future and restores a government that is for the people, by the people.

When my aged Uncle Mort tells a story that is not “truth-proofed,” it merely means he heard it somewhere, and details may be accurate--or, more likely--figments of his imagination. Herewith is his most current tale.

I make the world’s best lasagna. Actually I don’t, but my kids think I do, and who am I to tell them they’re wrong? Good mother that I am, I let them continue in their delusion that I am somehow a long-lost Italian who makes lasagna that mafia members kill for.

“Tengo tres conejos,” the little boy said. He looked at me expecting me to know and understand. “Tengo tres conejos,” he repeated. He was, maybe, five years old and he was surprised and a bit appalled that I didn’t quite get it. His dark eyes looked deep into my soul, and he made me smile. He looked intently into my face and waited for a response. I didn’t have a clue.