By: John Carlson— After moving into a smaller place going on four years ago, Nancy and I put up an eight-foot fence out back, which is great. For one thing, we can just let the dogs out, instead of walking them around the yard until they finally get the urge to … well, you know. Our fence also serves as a nice backdrop to our beloved little birds, bees and butterflies garden. Plus, when the weather is nice and depending…
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By: John Carlson— This time of year, the sleepy burg of Dana rests like a hundred other Indiana towns, a tiny island afloat on endless fields of ripening corn and soybeans. One important distinction sets it apart from all others, though. This is where Ernie Pyle was born, back in 1900. Most folks say the blessed event occurred in the house located on a quiet corner. Some say it didn’t. Either way, at the time, this sturdy dwelling was located…
By: John Carlson— In a week or so my wife, Nancy, will be joining her sisters on a trip to Europe, leaving me alone to wallow in a morass of self-despair while struggling against long odds for simple survival. Not that she should feel guilty about it or anything. It’s just that, before she goes, we must stock up on some basic necessities I will require to get by while left to my own devices. This is so that when…
By: John Carlson— We were up in Madison, Wis., for Nancy’s family reunion when I decided it would be the perfect place to film a Martian invasion movie. That’s because you wouldn’t need any extras to play the “people running their butts off in terror” scenes. The folks up there always run their butts off, just for the heck of it. It was kind of unbelievable. We drove into the city past some little lake and there on the shore…
By: John Carlson— There is a world of difference between growing up near big water and being on big water. This came to mind over a couple beers the other day, when my buddy John Pinckney and I began reminiscing about Doug Krabacher. Since Pinckney and his wife, Carol, are landlocked Munsonians like the rest of us, I don’t know the details of how Krabacher, a charter fishing captain on Lake Erie, came into their lives. Come into their lives…
By: John Carlson— Along with sipping bourbon, playing cutthroat card games of Go Fish, and continuing my quest to find the world’s greatest coleslaw, I have taken on a new hobby. Making soup. Making soup is not an endeavor a man enters into lightly, it turns out. There are a zillion soups out there on grocery store shelves, and I could buy any of them without trouble. But with a couple possible exceptions, none of them would rock my world….
By: John Carlson— A backyard garden like ours is supposed to be a place of peace and contemplation, but it isn’t when my wife is taking her caterpillar count. Then things get a trifle tense. Several evenings ago, Nancy found nine caterpillars stuck to a couple of our plants out back. This was cause for celebration. After all, butterflies – which magically spring from caterpillars, if I remember correctly – aren’t nearly as profuse as they once were. Come to…
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 dead already, and what’s been walking around the last 20 years is actually his hologram. But The Beach Boys? Their…
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 those outstanding physical specimens were school kids, mymother wasn’t packing their lunches. Back in the day, she kept way too…
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 USA?” Ha-ha. No. It’s just that, for the last five weeks or so, I have felt giddy as a pageant…