Simple Thoughts From A Complicated Mind, Sort Of . . .

Remember back in elementary school learning to write? We had those really fat pencils that were supposedly easier to work with. As we g...

Growing up, Saturdays meant mom would bake. Bread. Buns. Cinnamon rolls. The smell drifted over the house. My mouth would water. There ...

As I wrote last week, this past Friday was the sentencing hearing for the shooter in Kim’s and my son’s murder. By any definition, it w...