Many years ago when I was a member of a different denomination, I asked the minister why many of the views expressed by the national denomination seemed so different from the views of the people who worshipped with me on Sunday morning.
It’s been seven seasons since the 16th Region produced a state champion, when Boyd County won the State Tournament in 2001.
When I was a youngster, my family owned and operated a small country store on U.S. 60 in western Carter County, near the Rowan County line.
Among those of us who write for newspapers, telling readers at the beginning of a piece that most of them won’t be interested in what follows is a Cardinal No-No.
With just a week and a half of 16th Region play remaining in the regular season, the story-line pieces are falling into place like a breaking ball on the outside corner.
As a child in Sunday school, the importance of the Fifth Commandment — “Honor thy father and thy mother” — was drilled into the minds of the little children.
Saturday’s Kentucky Derby cleared something up for me when it comes to horse racing. I just don’t care for it.
I have a question, Gentle Reader, that I would like to pose to you on this fine post-Kentucky Derby Sunday:
When I was a junior in high school, I took the savings from my part-time job to supplement a trade-in — my old ’50 Plymouth for a used but sharp looking ’56 Ford convertible.
If you’ve got the golfing itch, you’ll like this news. Eagle Ridge Golf Course at Yatesville Lake is set to reopen Thursday after it was forced to close down last fall.
It was a frigid Saturday morning in January 1979 the day I first met Paul Sierer, the man who would be my boss for the next decade. I had arrived at what was then known as the Ashland Daily Independent that morning for a job interview that had been twice postponed by winter storms.
Arizona has picked up this season right where it left off last year — atop the National League standings. And the fast start has once again propelled the Diamondbacks into the national spotlight.
I have lived or work, or both lived and worked, in Kentucky for the majority of my 47 years.
My list of “staycation” suggestions is growing rapidly, although I still need more before I can assemble that information into a story.
Well, once again the calendar has rolled around to April.
Some of the guys I know still laugh about it. If the subject comes up now on those rare occasions when we’re together and reminiscing, they’re right there to remind me: “Buddy, you were this close to being a basket case.”
During an all-too-rare visit with her grandparents Sunday afternoon, my granddaughter excitedly rushed into the home office where her grandmother was working.
Even for the most diehard of baseball fans, Opening Day isn’t about who wins or loses. It’s everything but that in fact.
On Monday, the Cincinnati Reds played in their 132nd Opening Day game, hosting the Arizona Diamondbacks at Great American Ball Park.
The winner? Who really cares?
The chaos began with five little words: “Let’s go to the cemetery.”
Is it alternator season?
You may recall a few weeks ago I mentioned in this space I had purchased a ticket for Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band’s March 24 performance in the Schottenstein Center, on the campus of The Ohio State University.
I can’t remember when it passed from the scene, but if you turned back the clock 30 years and some change, it’d be on a lot of people’s lists of the best eateries in the Tri-State area.
It’s interesting when national events intersect with Our Towns.
My mother came down to visit last week, and in the process of a chat over dinner, she posed one of those questions grown children hate to hear.
It’s been one of those weeks when it seems everything is interconnected, perhaps not in terms as stated centuries ago by eastern philosophers, but uniquely interesting nevertheless.
It just looks bad.
If you are one of the regular readers of my weekly column (and thank you very much if you are), you’ve probably seen me make numerous references in this space to my fiancee, Shari.
For many years, I felt left out of St. Patrick’s Day because I was not Irish.
In fact, I didn’t know if I was Irish. I was adopted and had no idea about my heritage.
I knew my adoptive family wasn’t Irish, just British and Dutch. And probably a little Native American, too. They didn’t really know themselves.
For the last 15 years or so, I have known more about my background. I learned that I am mostly Italian and Romanian. It might have been easy to guess that about me, judging from my coloring and some might say judging from my behavior as well.
Here at The Independent, and at most newspapers, reporters have what are known as beats, which are the subject areas they are primarily responsible for covering.
n 2004, insurance companies pushed to cap medical malpractice awards. Kentucky was one of the few states to resist.
Last month, I interviewed a woman, only 31 years old, who was battling colon cancer.
There was no colon cancer in her family, yet at an unusually young age, she had it.
Because she was aware of her own body and took responsibility for her own health, she was diagnosed and treated and is making great progress toward becoming cancer free.
Here’s a little tip for anyone whose e-mail list my name might be on:
I certainly got an education in local politics, grudges and attitudes last week in response to a request for reasons why many people consider Ashland’s downtown business district to be doomed, while others see it as an area of nearly unlimited opportunity.
It was in the spring that I got thrown out of the honor society. And it wasn’t for grades, either.
This one’s for the ladies:
The windy season approaches and I am prepared to annoy my neighbors for hours on end with various sets of wind chimes.
Truthfully, there are several sets of wind chimes on my property and have been for years.
The neighbors aren’t close enough to be bothered by them, if that sort of thing even does bother them.
Someone please clue me in.
I have something to confess to you today, Gentle Reader.
Tomorrow is Leap Day, Feb. 29. It comes around every four years.
I guess it’s fitting that Old Man Winter would spray a coat of ice over the closing of the boys high school basketball regular season last week, leaving us with a familiar yet slightly distorted view of the teams in 16th Region.
My daughter has a cat, Belle, who thinks I’m, well, the cat’s meow.
Who out there was among the hundreds — maybe thousands — like myself who were left watching the opening minutes of St. John’s-Duke on Saturday instead of the closing seconds of Kentucky’s hog-wild win over Arkansas?
My cousin David took on a multitude of life changes all at once.
Any suggestions?
I know we’re not alone. Practically everyone in our office has been dealing with some kind of a bug for what seems like an eternity. It’s obvious we’re just sustaining this thing and passing it back and forth, and I personally want to break the cycle.
Some years back, I wrote a column on the subject of how otherwise rational people can turn into blithering, panicky nitwits at the slightest hint that winter weather might be forthcoming.
The script writers have ended their strike and Hollywood is back in action.
Over the years, by various means, I have collected an assortment of objects for which I have no earthly use.
February is full of special days, but there is a little-known special day this month that I hope others will begin celebrating this year. It is International Mother Language Day, designated as such by UNESCO’s General Conference in November 1999 to promote linguistic and cultural diversity and multilingualism.
Wow, this is getting a little weird. Scary, even.
When you live in the area, it’s sometimes easy to forget how good we have it. A recent trip to Lexington, for example, forced me to say out loud, “Ashland isn’t a bad place to be.”