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Columns

  • Stop this cycle, I want to get off

    More than a dozen years ago, I performed in the community theatre's production of "Dearly Departed", a campy tale of a Southern dysfunctional family attending the wake and funeral of patriarch Bud Turpin.

    There are many classic lines from the show, but the one that has kept playing in my head for the last month is delinquent Royce saying to his financially ruined uncle, "You know, Junior, life's a circle."

  • Christmas then and now

    Christmas will be quiet at Ten Broeck Manor this year. Tom and I will celebrate at home, most likely with just our furry companions, a hot meal and perhaps an adult beverage.

    Next week, after the paper is finished I will head to Georgia to spend Christmas with my children and Tom will venture to his sisters' on the East Coast. Because of his most recent back surgery, he can't travel the almost-eight hours up north so he'll FaceTime with the granddaughters when they open presents.

  • I challenge you, Williston

    My first intention was to write an editorial – an opinion from the newspaper's standpoint. I then realized the topic is too personal and I couldn't do it justice in a newspaper editorial.

    That's when I decided to make it my opinion – just mine – that of Carolyn Ten Broeck.

    It's not one of my typical "Slice of Life" pieces about my rather atypical life.

    This is cut and dried and to the point. And it's personal. Deeply personal.

  • What's in a name?

    The editor of my first newspaper had been an assistant editor for over 34 years by the time I entered her newsroom.

    Over the course of the four years I worked under her as a reporter, I learned many, many things about life in a small town weekly newspaper. Perhaps the most singlehanded important tidbit has proven tried and true for almost 30 years: don’t get the name wrong.

    “People will forgive you for errors,” she told me, “but it’s hard for them to forgive you when you mess up their name.”

  • Much ado about sleep

    When I tell you I don’t sleep, I am not bragging. Nor am I complaining. I’m just stating a fact. And perhaps looking for some sympathy or justification on why I look so bad.

    I once was a sleeper.

    Decades ago, I could sleep until noon or later any given day of the week. Of course, that was when I really was a night owl and wasn’t getting into bed until the wee hours of the morning.

    That’s all changed now. I can go to sleep at 3 a.m. and in two to three hours, I am wide-eyed and ready to start my day.

  • Harvey Weinstein and me

    When the first accusation against movie producer Harvey Weinstein came out, I wasn't too shocked.

    Most of us have grown up with the stereotyped "casting couch" portrayal of Hollywood.

    Over the years, usually after some bigwig mogul has died, we hear the tales but then it's too late to confront the alleged abuser.

    Bill Cosby has been an exception to that rule. And now Harvey Weinstein.

  • The Pioneer Woman

    I’m accustomed to power outages.

    In February 1985 while living in the Kentucky mountains, a freak storm dumped 18 inches of snow in a short time and paralyzed the entire region.

    Not only was driving a risk, I was a young mother with a two-year-old, a two-month-old baby and no electricity.

    Our house was drafty on a good day and with an infant, I had to evacuate my home in order to keep the babies warm.

  • Things I think about and remember

    We had so much fun sailing on the Life Raft this Memorial Day weekend. It was just a bunch of friends with the common story line of dementia getting together and talking about what was important to us.

  • Learning to let go – three years later

    By Marcia Burr

    Guest Columnist

    As I sit and write this today, I reflect on the fact that it’s been three years now since my wife died of Early Onset Alzheimer’s Disease.

    I figured out how to build a whole new life after so many years of 24/7 caregiving. Many things have changed a lot, and some things haven’t changed much at all.

  • The simple things

    I heard them off in the distance, the distinctive calls of the sandhill cranes. Circling overhead, the cranes came in and out of sight. Would they land in our back field? Would they continue farther east?

     Slowly, I’m learning when the bluebirds nest and the hummingbirds come. I’m fortunate to have a friend who cares about these signs of the seasons.

    “Don’t expect the hummingbirds before St. Patrick’s Day.”

    “The sulphur butterflies are the first to appear.”