Carlson

Need some feel-good music? Look no further. Photo by: Nancy Carlson

John Carlson: They Don’t Write ‘Em Like…

By: John Carlson— While listening to music recently, it struck me that someday we’re going to wake up and learn that Brian Wilson, founder of The Beach Boys, has left us, and I’m going to get real depressed. Ditto for Beatles Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr, as well as Rolling Stones Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. That’s assuming Keith isn’t…


Most ninjas can probably do an actual push-up. Photo by: Nancy Carlson

John Carlson: Are There Pathetic Ninjas?

By: John Carlson— Though not a regular viewer, I do enjoy watching those modern-day ninja competitions when I encounter one while channel surfing. Frankly, in these sad days of video-game and electronic-device addiction, it’s almost hard to imagine there are young Americans who are that physically fit anymore. As they navigate the obstacle course, I am always reminded that when…


YYou never know who you’ll find in the Cravers Hall of Fame. Photo by: Mike Rhodes

John Carlson: To Dream The Impossible…

By: John Carlson— The recent announcement that the Miss America contest was scrapping its swimsuit competition came as a welcome victory to us non-sexist pageant people. We’re not just pieces of meat, ya know? By now, some of you may be saying, “Pageant people? Did I miss something? Is somebody starting a new pageant to pick, like, Mister American Chunk-Butt…


Should hummingbirds cool it with all that sugar juice? Photo by: Nancy Carlson

John Carlson: Hummingbird! Duck!

By: John Carlson—  With only one hummingbird regularly flocking to our feeder these days, I nevertheless relish evenings spent on our back deck, watching it cavort. It’s an activity that follows a familiar pattern. Pour some bourbon into a glass. Carry the glass out to the deck overlooking our hummingbird feeder. Pull down my goggles. Sip the whiskey and watch…


As you can see, my plane features no shortage of air. Photo by: Ron Waechter

John Carlson: Off Into The Wild Blue…

By: John Carlson— Why, yes! As a matter of fact, I do own an airplane! Sixty-seven years. My whole life. That’s how long I’ve waited to say that. Well, OK. Technically, it would be 67 years had I wanted an airplane the moment I popped from Mom’s womb and some doctor flipped me over to smack me on the butt….


Is it a sandstone block? Or could it be a monolith? Photo by: Nancy Carlson

John Carlson: What’s That Doing There?

By: John Carlson— The distinctive monoliths rise from barren soil. Primitive yet precisely planned, they are the labors of a people long since lost to time, gigantic rocks raised in praise of ancient gods and goddesses before whose cosmic countenances men worshipped in awe. Stonehenge? Nah, my backyard. The sandstone blocks began showing up out there when we started planting…


A ladybug doing what it does best—eating. Photo by: Matt Howell

John Carlson: Gifts As Cute As A Bug

By: John Carlson— To celebrate Mother’s Day this year, I almost gave my wife Nancy 36,000 presents. But I digress … To begin at the beginning, a lawn-care supply catalogue showed up in our mailbox. Flipping through it, I was amazed to see it offered Tree Diapers. Yes, Tree Diapers. The ad copy assured readers that Tree Diapers helped baby…


A special war memento brings Memorial Day to mind. Photo by: John Carlson

John Carlson: Honoring Our Heroes

By: John Carlson— It’s a wood-framed shadow box, measuring about 8-by-12 inches, that once hung on a wall just outside my late father’s living room and now rests on a bookshelf in my home office. Mounted inside the box on black velvet is a triangular piece of metal. Maybe 6-inches long and jagged on one end, it’s painted forest green…


White Castle sliders fill a silver serving tray. Photo by: Nancy Carlson

John Carlson: In Praise of ‘Gut Bombs’

By: John Carlson— There aren’t many things I wholeheartedly believe in these days, but one is the intrinsic goodness of White Castle sliders. Of course, some folks despise them. “Ewwww,” they sneer, wrinkling up their snouts while venting their disgust at the mere mention of the little hamburgers, also known by the fetching nickname “gut bombs.”  Given the unreasonable culinary…


A stalk of broccolini, slightly worse for wear. Photo by: Nancy Carlson

John Carlson: That’s Brocco-What?

By: John Carlson— These are exciting days for vegetables. For example, when Nancy and I recently enjoyed dinner at an out-of-county restaurant, our waitress lowered the plates before us, then began apologizing. “I’m so sorry, but that green thing isn’t a broccoli stalk like I told you,” she admitted, sheepishly. “It’s broccolini.” Now, had she failed to mention that, I’d…