The traffic light on Winkler Avenue was green, yet the Camaro in front of me hit the brakes. I managed to avoid him as he stopped short of the duck and her eight babies, who were slowly trying to cross the four-lane street.
Children all over the United States are currently wringing their iPhone-calloused hands over the possibility that Santa Claus might not make it this year because he’s trapped in a delayed shipping container somewhere off the coast of California.
At The Wall Street Journal’s annual Chief Executive Officers’ council, Elon Musk, the world’s richest man whose net worth is an estimated $290 billion, sounded an alarm.
I own a closet full of guns.
There are those of us old enough to remember when the term “politically correct” emerged into the public sphere. It didn’t take long for ideological culture warriors and politicians to exploit the term to suit their own agendas.
My daughter has a nice little house in a safe neighborhood in the San Fernando Valley.
Folks are tied up in knots over tying the knot.
During World War II, after the death and destruction from Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941, the highest-level baseball was played on Hawaii, reaching it’s apex during the 1944 Army-Navy Pineapple World Series.
Families in Michigan will set an empty place at the table this holiday season in the wake of the mass shooting at Oxford High School that left four children dead and seven more injured.
The world is still COVID crazy. With their vaccine mandates, passports and mistreatment of the unvaccinated, free countries like Australia and Canada are turning into dictatorships.
If only I had a magic wand, I would henceforth consign all conspiracy freaks and vaccine refuseniks (78 million in number) to some distant desert isle where they could breathe free upon each other until God sorts them out.
My access to news narrowed dramatically when I was 10 years old.
Moab on a mid-fall weeknight was full. All the motels, RV parks and tents sites had “no vacancy” notices.
I wish I had a change of heart, but I still can’t support it.
A desperately needed bounce in public acclaim following President Biden’s signing of the $1 trillion infrastructure proposal has yet to materialize, leaving the president wallowing in the low 40% range in job performance approval from a discontented and dispirited nation helpless in the face of out-of-control inflation.
The other day, I ran into someone who was too discouraged to give thanks for much of anything.
This may get me on Santa’s naughty list, but I honestly can’t remember whether I watched “The Homecoming: A Christmas Story” when CBS first aired it on December 19, 1971.
This year marks the 25th anniversary of one of the most spectacular conservation victories in history: the defeat of a massive gold mine planned for the doorstep of Yellowstone National Park.
Not guilty on all counts.
Last year the media went into a frenzy over the 400th anniversary of the Mayflower’s arrival in North America, but the festivities were just beginning.
These days, we’re all used to walking through retail stores in October and dodging Christmas displays of inflatable Baby Yoda yard art while we’re still trying to find the perfect Halloween pumpkins to decompose on our front porches.
Since the pandemic began, the Federal Trade Commission has sent hundreds of cease and desist letters to companies that claimed their products and therapies can prevent, treat or cure COVID-19.
I want to start my County Corner with a thank you to every property taxpayer in Mohave County.
Because life is mostly made up of little experiences, occasionally interrupted by big events, it’s easy to take the little things for granted.
In July, I flew up to Mohave County. While I was there, I met with elected officials and local leaders, where we discussed the unique needs of rural Arizona.
