Carlson

John Carlson: A Truncated Tale

By: John Carlson— Nancy and I were vacationing recently at a favorite place on the Gulf Coast of Florida when a sobering realization hit. I could probably wear my ancient swimming trunks into the water, but there was a 99 percent chance they wouldn’t be walking back out of the water. Not with me in them, anyway. Either I was getting smaller or my trunks were getting bigger. Making matters worse, I didn’t see enough sea kelp and clam shells…


John Carlson: Black Licorice Addicting

By: John Carlson— It’s not easy being a black-licorice addict. See, you might love that stuff, but you never get enough. The reason you never get enough is, the photo above notwithstanding, you don’t always find it on store shelves. Sometimes when you think you have, you must examine it closely, or it’ll break your heart. This happened to me once. When checking out the Twizzlers area of the candy shelf in a local drugstore, alongside the more common red…


John Carlson: It’s Worth Looking Into

By: John Carlson— For my recent birthday, number 67, my wife bought me a garden gazing ball. Technically, my first choice of gift was, as always, an airplane. Not a big, expensive airplane. Just a little, old, cheap, used airplane somewhere in the $20,000 range would do, making me giddily happy to be back in the sky again. Didn’t get it, though. My second choice? A muscle car. Heck, I’m not picky. I don’t need a Corvette or a Viper….


John Carlson: These Pants Gotta Go

By: John Carlson— Ever have something you’ve anxiously waited years for, and then when you finally get it, it breaks your heart? Welcome to my cargo pants. Walking through Walmart two years ago, I spotted these neatly folded khaki Wranglers. On the tag, some rugged individualist like Brett Favre was throwing a football and looking like a real stud muffin in the process. The price was right, too. Even more to the point, they had so many pockets! These were…


John Carlson: Cooler Days Are Ahead

By: John Carlson— It’s never easy when a beloved family companion dies. The wheezing. The weird, disturbing sounds emanating from somewhere deep down below. The lukewarm yogurt. Uh, lukewarm yogurt? Oh, sorry. Did I fail to mention I’m writing about our old refrigerator? It had done a yeoman’s job of refrigeration since our move into this house three years ago. But once it begins showing symptoms of serious maladies, nothing really restores its health. Not God answering our fervent prayers…


John Carlson: Stick With Cops for Calendars

By: John Carlson— Recently I saw some pictures from those Muncie police calendars featuring racy shots of male and female cops, and they looked pretty good. As a man, I must say I wouldn’t mind being taken into custody by those ladies with their “Come hither, lawbreaker” looks, fancy Tasers and all. I mean, under the right circumstances, I could probably commit a misdemeanor once a week or so. That’s if I knew they were going to be cuffing me,…


John Carlson: Can’t Beat Barge Watching

By: John Carlson— One thing I really enjoy is watching giant barges go floating past on a majestic river. Naturally, being a longtime Muncie resident, this love developed here along the White River. After 34 years of residency, unfortunately, I was still waiting for that first barge to pass. That’s when I commented to Nancy, “You’d think one’d chug by sooner or later.” “That’s what you’ve been waiting 34 years for?” she said, in disbelief. “A barge?” “Well, yeah ……


John Carlson: Birds Finally Get Their Due

By: John Carlson— By any calculation, Nancy and I should be multi-millionaires by now, except for the fact she spends approximately $7,000 a week on seeds to feed every single bird residing in Delaware County. Does this upset me? Well, yeah. The worst thing is, of that $7,000 a week in seeds, squirrels consume $6,989 of it. Now, I could understand morbidly obese birds. After all, come October, the majority that don’t want to turn into bird-shaped ice cubes crashing…


John Carlson: Look, Ma! No Cavities!

By: John Carlson— So Nan brings Toby back from the veterinarian’s office the other day and says she has some bad news to share. “Oh, no!” I scream, hand to my mouth, collapsing on the floor in grief. “How long has he got?” “He’s not dying, dingbat.” “He’s not?” I say with relief, removing my hand from my mouth and rising from the floor. “No. He just needs extensive dental work,” she says, at which point I resume screaming into…


John Carlson: At Yoga, He’s a Dead Ringer

By: John Carlson— I haven’t been practicing yoga very long, but long enough to know my overwhelmingly favorite yoga pose. It’s called The Corpse. As you may have surmised, The Corpse is so named because what you do is pretend that you are dead. Like with many other things in life, as my wife often reminds me, acting dead is pretty much my forte. Now, there are countless yoga poses out there, some of such complexity they appear mind-boggling,  or…