That moment when you start to believe in yourself is a turning point. I do think teachers, mentors and friends can be the game changers. They help us see who we are or are not. Sometimes better than we see ourselves.

Suppose I told you that aging really is a state of mind. And it might be healthy to live in the past.

I am a simple human being doing what comes naturally. Instead of tuning in to the world around me, I wander off in many directions. I tune it all out so I can see what I want to see.

I guess there’s a psychology to eating. Right? It’s not just about flavor. The smell and texture also can influence my decision to chomp and chew.

New York. Ya gotta love it.

Revealing a new day simply feels good – that moment, that pause and belief that something special is about to begin.

I have always used my pockets as portable treasure chests. They carried things of great importance.

You could turn this into a party game: “You have 60 seconds to list what you would take in your basement during a tornado warning.”

It had to be years ago when I first heard someone refer to a vacation as an escape. It was clever and pushed the right buttons. I mean, yeah, taking time off is kind of an escape.

“We are the last generation of American children who will ever know what true boredom felt like. And that seemingly small detail may be one of the most significant losses in human history.”

We are surrounded by storytellers. All ages. Different agendas. We need to think hard about the story being told, especially stories that trigger us.

I think it’s pretty universal that people are cautious about trusting other people. So is mistrust a human nature thing? Is it instinct? Well, maybe. But perhaps mistrust is something we are taught at an early age.

The old adage, “You snooze, you lose,” still stands as wise advice, whether you’re talking about the last cookie in the jar or that job opening you’ve always dreamed about.

I was given this job in July 1948. You’d think I would understand the basic duties by now, right? This living life thing should be easy.

I do not have a sense of living through distinct eras. Most of it is a rapid, constant flipping of the calendar, month after month and year after year.

My surgeon expects my leg to recover after some physical therapy, yet to come. He did some scraping to give the nerve more room to heal and do its job.

I kept thinking about that moment when new life, soon to be crawling and climbing, meets a life that is shuffling down a slope in time.

Recently I had a curtain-opening experience after reading a poem that left me kind of excited. About breaking more rules with the English language.

I do love words, which is why I was fascinated by Anne Fadiman’s attraction to what she calls “four-dollar” words. However, I have spent too much time in the newspaper biz to share Fadiman’s word addiction.

Louie was about my age when he flew from his home in Caracas, Venezuela, to visit his cousins. They lived in the neighborhood and were part of the gang of friends who hung out together on weekends and summers.

Time becomes more precious, golden, invaluable, even sacred ... when you’re waiting.

Studs Terkel’s candid reflections capture a universal longing for dignity, pride and the need for every working person to leave something tangible behind.

They were a toe-tapping, hip-swirling, dancing machine. Mom was smiling. Dad was smiling. The music was smiling – the song that made it happen – Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood.”

On Dec. 31, I finally finished reading a great book I started on Jan. 1, 2025. Yep, it took an entire year to read. But that was the plan.

My brain has changed my daily routine. The most significant impact has been on those precious moments in the morning when I am on the edge of waking up.

How do you assess a year that’s about to end? A simple enough task, I thought. But turns out it is not. It began as a challenge in the form of a writing prompt. That’s a writing assignment, if you choose to accept it.

Seeing the book sparked a flashback. One thing led to another. The book was “Alone: The Classic Polar Adventure.” I was suddenly pulled back to my high school years, when I had read a printing of the 1934 edition of “Alone.”

“Read all about it! Read all about it?”

The “waiting room.” What a perfect name ... for a room where you wait.

I was wondering if Jesus would stomp a spider or smash a fly?

“Got a question for you. Would Jesus swat a fly or stomp on a spider?”

How did we do it? There are days I wonder.

Who were my teachers?

There’s a large hunk of rusted iron lingering in my backyard. Waiting.

I throw away a lot of useful stuff. At least that’s how it feels. And this is not easy for me. I grew up with parents who found a way to use most everything they had. I inherited that habit.

So I’m at the cinema this past week. While enjoying my popcorn time, something strange happened when movie previews started bursting on the screen.

Technology tends to creep into our lives. This is most striking to me as I travel the ever-so-convenient interstate highway and pass under those colossal power lines that stretch beyond sight.

A campfire caps a long day in the sun full of friends and family, good food and loud fun, including volleyball. We call it the Lost Weekend, which has been locked into the Labor Day holiday since 1978.

Opinion from Lonny Cain: The dangers of curiosity don’t fade with age and I don’t think that toddler inside me has ever stopped exploring or asking questions

It feels good to show the kind of connection that grows when people simply help each other. We forget how far a helping hand can stretch.

So I must figure out how to be angry but not express it. My anger process is often referred to as venting. Let the steam out, then move on. Not only do dog and wife not like it, but there are some experts now saying it’s not healthy. I actually thought it was healthy.

I’m having flashbacks. Big time. This started with a personal story told by actor-comedian Jim Carrey. He had a frightening experience that reminded me of a fear I’ve carried since the early ’60s.

It was early Sunday. Our air conditioner kicked on. My happy button triggers every time that happens. It had been happening a lot.

Before me was an invitation that beckoned: “Come. Discover.” I had stepped through this old wooden door before. This time I was on a mission and this was the perfect portal — taking me nowhere in particular or anywhere I wanted to be.

It’s fitting that Aldo Leopold would mourn the death of the prairie in a graveyard. I feel I am doing something similar in my front yard. But let me tell his story first.

Yes, today my age rolls into a higher number. Oh boy. My Facebook page is heating up with friends and family wanting me to be happy.

We had wandered into an oasis away from the steel and glass stalagmites, congestion of traffic and humanity, and major tourism beacons.

"For me, (inspiration is) often a comment I hear or read that captures me and demands that I do something with it," Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, in his weekly PaperWork column.

"But know this. If I ever say to you, 'Good luck.' I really mean it," Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, writes in his weekly PaperWork column.

"A trip to New York always provides stories to tell. Or for starters, a series of observations. Let me share more of my notes," Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, writes in his weekly column PaperWork.