The Blog: Voices from the road

Puff Biscuits, Wooden Spoons, and Scrambled Eggs A few days ago, in the middle of serious talk about moving Elizabeth from the farm in Zebulon to her new place, I asked her, “What is your favorite childhood food?” She look sideways for a minute and started talking about the aromas,

I was up for my normal walk/run/drag/sludge/limp/ ”someone carry me please” this morning and I was just fussing away. I woke up at 4 am, which is early for me. I am not sure if this is me thing, and I can’t say it is a good thing, but I

For those that follow me online you know I travel to Great Falls Montana about 4 times a year for business. When traveling, always try to find time to search out ‘local’ living, ‘local food’ and ‘local sites’. Great Falls is a great place to do this and is so

Elizabeth and I were talking the other night about ‘stuff’. One of the topics was, ‘who we are’ and how we got to be who we are today. I started waxing eloquent on what a good man is… (and how I am not). Ha! She just rolled her eyes… But

My boss had surgery recently. This was his first time in the hospital and true to his nature, he was kind of excited about the adventure. Having never been put to sleep nor gone through any of this process, this is all new to him. Well… I don’t like to

Work has been very busy the last few months, and I normally don’t get a full day off. Managing call centers is a 7 day a week gig. I am not complaining, I have a job, and work for a great guy, but I needed a day off. Friday, a

The Jag had to go. I grew up being a total motor head/car guy type. It wasn’t my intention, but it was in my blood and DNA. My Dad knows everything about cars. By default he kept everything running himself, and I was his helper. I loved the smell of

I have been around a number of different animals in my life thus far, but one of the most intriguing and beguiling have been horses. Though I prefer to ride something with a throttle and seat, I have to admit there is a romance to riding astride a living, got

The year was 1912, and the pace of life moved like warm molasses on a plate. Though the pace might have been slow it was full to the brim with the fight for survival. Wyatt McKay was trudging through the rain, on the back of his family’s old mare, to

This week I drove down to Pink Hill, NC, south of Kinston, to pick up a car. It’s the first time this spring I’ve taken the time to journey outside of the city for any business. I was amazed at the sparkling green of the fields, trees, and the ‘newness’