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Confession No. 116 – Why some boys should be more like their moms

Want to know how a girl will be when she grows up? Go no further than her mom. That young lady might be quiet and unassuming now. She might not be wearing turquoise-colored eye shadow or dye her hair...

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Confession No. 118 — This is one vice I’ve never outgrown

If patience is a virtue, impatience must be a vice — unless it comes from a child. Or a child at heart. And that is never more evident than on Christmas morning. ‘Wait Kaiden,’ Catherine said from her...

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Confession No. 120 — Our son is the sick one, yet we suffer. Go figure.

There is no vaccination for it. There is also no immediate cure. And unfortunately, my son has been infected with this horrible disorder. Senioritis. Unlike some conditions, senioritis affects most...

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Confession No. 121 – Woe is me. Pee-wee soccer is upon us … again.

I’ve spun many a yarn over the years and have done a pretty darn good job of sugar coating the bad parts. But even the best storytellers in the world don’t own enough fib to beat around the bush about...

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Confession No. 122 — The little girl who cried wolf wasn’t whistling Dixie...

It was her go-to excuse for more than 15 years. She used it to occasionally stay home from school, church and even fun family outings. It’s been so frustrating that I’ve wanted to strangle her. But as...

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Confession No. 125 – For the love of a child

‘Mom, I’m glad I’m not adopted,’ the little boy said out of the blue. ‘Really,’ she responded. ‘Why do you say that?’ ‘Because, if I was adopted you wouldn’t love me as much.’ It had been more than...

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The Unorthodox Epicure (Recipe): Antipasto Pasta Salad

Being Southern and German as I am, the whole antipasto thing always confused me as a child. Even as a young adult, I couldn’t imagine why the Italians were anti such a wonderful plate of cured meat and...

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Confession No. 127 – The Talk

My father had it with me. His father probably had with him. And his father’s father before. The talk. I’m talking neither about the birds and bees nor the discussion about family secrets revealed....

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Confession No. 129 – Getting there is not what it used to be

I got the key to the highway; Billed out and bound to go. I’m gonna leave here running; Walking is most too slow. — Eric Clapton There was a time when I was content to travel. It was a time of Hot...

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Food Snob Chronicles — Steak 101: Say goodbye to steak sauce

It’s been said that a good steak needs no sauce. And truer words have never been spoken. Take Ruth’s Chris, for example. I know someone who shamelessly asked his server for Worcestershire. They obliged...

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Confession No. 133 — Being Archie

‘Every family has one … And Archie was that guy in our family … That uncle.’ I spoke in my loudest and most sincere voice to about 50 people whom I didn’t know. I’d met a few of them in years past but...

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Confession No. 136 — You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…

For those of you who are new to these parts, this project began almost four years ago with my ‘Confessions’ — everything from rants about people wearing pajamas in public, to very personal pieces...

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Food Snob Chronicles — Behold the Pimento Cheese Dog

When I first wrote to all of you in June 2011, I was most certain of a few things. For starters, this little corner of the World Wide Web was going to be mostly for family and close friends. My...

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Confession No. 137 — Moving On

“I tramp a perpetual journey.” — Walt Whitman, Song of Myself My wife cried today. Sure, she’s shed her fair share of tears, but this time was different. ‘I’ve lived here longer than any place else...

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The RV Chronicles — Getting there is the hard part

There are hundreds and thousands of people who make most of their memories via the recreational vehicle, or box camper.  In my 40-some-odd years, I couldn’t be counted among those folks … until now....

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The RV Chronicles — Johnny Cash, a teen flautist and Adam’s Little Astrodome

There’s nothing like grilling to the sounds of Willie Nelson, the Foo Fighters and Johnny Cash. Throw in a little Roy Orbison and a 16-year-old flute player practicing Coldplay’s Clocks from the rear...

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The RV Chronicles — Living más at lot 27

So, the big news this week is not much. But it is enough to sustain us. We traveled to the Piney Woods and I was able to take a shower in a reasonably sized tub. Also, my doctor didn’t lecture me this...

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The RV Chronicles — Wrapping up a summer by the bay

If anyone six months ago had told me that I’d spend a good part of my summer picking apart Houston-area Tex-Mex restaurants and showering in a space the size of small closet, I’d have warned them to...

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The RV Chronicles – Alone and lonely

I am awakened each morning by an alarm clock and a 1960s sitcom. My hand, by habit, extends to my right and finds nothing except mattress. I’m alone. When I cook, it’s mainly for one person. And only...

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The RV Chronicles — Minestrone Soup … On a budget and a time crunch

The best recipes have at least one thing in common — a storied history. Some of those stories only go back a generation or two, such as my mamaw’s chicken and dumplings. She made her version from the...

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