Columns by Lonny Cain
I’m planning a dinner party. And you’re all invited.
Another Pickles comic strip hit home, as comic strips can do so well. (Kudos to artist Brian Crane) I was forced to reflect on how I process obits.
I think it was on one of those ventures to get him untangled that I started thinking about the leash and how it’s part of our lives.
July 1, 1948, was a Thursday. My day of birth.
I’m studying my baby photo at age 3 months. I see a similarity with my current hairdo. If you look real close you can see a fine covering of hair. Just not a lot of it.
I used to think this majestic Oak tree would be here long after I have gone. But now I wonder.
“A penny for your thoughts." People still say that, right?
Paperwork: The keyword for smoking in my generation was “cool.” Tough guys in the movies showed how cool it could be. And my dad made it cool. I couldn’t wait until I could be cool.
My dad began drawing when he was a kid. He had the gift. That’s what I called it.
A flash of reddish fur caught my eye. A squirrel.
“No pain. No gain." I’ve mumbled that little mantra more than once ...
“Age 30 frightens me.” ... It’s my candid answer to the question: “What is the perfect age?”
The cover story begins: “Operating out of every corner of the globe, criminals are bombarding older Americans with emails phone calls, tests and letters, all trying to steal as much of our money as possible."
Musings ... or as my dad used to say, “The ramblings of poor lost souls” .... on this Monday, April 15, 2024.
Paperwork: Psychologist Elizabeth Loftus is an expert on memory, and she scares me.
Paperwork: After the truck drove away, I walked back through the empty rooms. Aunt Ene’s home was now a house. Her little world was gone.
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Paperwork: Sometimes the best part of your day is when you write about it. Turn it into a story you tell yourself ... and others, if you want.
Paperwork: I’ve learned something important over the last several days.
Paperwork: ... the first thing they say is, “Are you OK?”No-no-no-no. No, they are not OK.
Paperwork: “Raise some heck!” I repeated, smiling at the thought. I told him I’d write that down for a future column. And so it begins ... me raising some heck.
Paperwork: It’s interesting how we change as the sun sets. We adjust. Nightfall is something we must deal with and prepare for.
Paperwork: The Facebook message was simply one word ... and a song. ...The one word was “mood."
It helps to have bad friends. Well, it helped me.
A memory overwhelmed me the other day. When I smelled it.
Ya gotta love the cheerleaders. I think I began to understand this when I was watching the end of a televised marathon – a grueling race that got me thinking about crossing finish lines.
Cain: Don’t think big if you want to change your life. Think small.
Paperwork: It was time to put Christmas away. And it wasn’t easy.
Paperwork: Simple enough. It’s what people say. At some point, however, don’t we begin to wonder about what that means? Especially the “happy” part.
Where do I begin my Christmas story? Christmas 2023.
“I am thinking about starting a journal.”
This feels like a joke, right? Well, I’m seriously wondering if it’s true – that there’s a pill for everything.
Little posters often pop up in my daily Facebook scroll. I lingered over this one because I know the people involved and the message punched me. “You passed away before I had the chance to make you proud.”
Cain: We do love celebrities ... in a variety of ways. I am reminded of this now and then when famous names I’ve grown up with die and I feel grief and sadness.
People say they love to travel, but I’m not sure they’re talking about the travel part. Most people want to get where they’re going as quickly as possible.
I am a member of the gall bladder club. The primary price of admission is your gall bladder. I paid my dues about 10 years ago.
Circle Nov. 15, next Wednesday. I am nudging you toward a task on that day. You don’t need to prepare much. But you might need a little time to build up some courage. Because writing is an act of bravery.
There are times that humanity overwhelms me. Not politics or national debate, but simple actions on the street or some smaller stage. A single voice with purpose. In this case the voice was in song.
We were playing penny ante poker. That means we could play a long time for only a few bucks using the red, white and blue poker chips that were forever stored in the old tin canister.
The paper arranged to have violinist Joshua Bell play six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes on a cold January morning in 2007 at the Metro Station in Washington, D.C.
“Someone’s coming.” That’s a little voice inside my head. Keeps me plugged in to my schedule.
These stories aren’t so much about the people involved. More important is that notebook. And why it matters to each of us.
Ahhh, welcome to my daily ritual. Me searching for ways to dodge and weave through the day.
I do not sing in public. It’s a personal rule.
The one that got away.I see it now, pinned on the corkboard in my office – a story I never chased. It could have been a book, and I immediately knew the title would be “Shoebox.”
Their reaction is now predictable, usually after I slowly reach behind and pull from my left rear pocket THE WALLET! There’s an audible groan.
I try to mend broken bridges from the past if I can, and then move on. Otherwise I’d remain stuck in a swamp of regrets. What tends to linger, though, is guilt – the stuff that stains time.
John Foster Dulles has me thinking about my wheelbarrow. I came across something he said: “The measure of success is not whether you have a tough problem to deal with, but whether it is the same problem you had last year.”
Masterpiece, a curious word. What does that mean?
“What do you want?” I asked, knowing exactly what he wants. We talk like this all the time. Me with words, some of which he understands. And he is speaking volumes simply with his eyes.