A warm and Western howdy, saddlepals and saddlepal-ettes. Hope autumn is being kind to you. As always, inspiring vistas are promised as we mosey through
Crappies. The fish. Not the bad poopie San Francisco street language. Missed the deadline. Yesterday was my Mighty Newspaper’s Absolute Can’t Write Nothin’ About What
Ah, sweet, blessed autumn. Just about here. All these wonderful years here in Santa Clarita, I’ve come to notice something. Give or take, there’s always
Hey Pops. Cripes. You know me. Big-time historian and can’t remember dates to save my life. Had to look it up and yup. I was
Hello dear friends and Santa Clarita saddlepals. From atop a fine steed, I’m glancing out over the thousands of you readers, searching for a hand.
Anybody out there in our dear and riparian valley know how to perform an actual, functioning rain dance? Please? We’ll be most appreciative. It doesn’t
I have a friend who years ago asked a question of the ages: “What if you just want to be — Mad?” My gal pal is
Can you absolutely believe it? The first day of autumn is Tuesday. Someone tell Linda Storli to make sure she sets her clock back. Hope
I used to play a game with my sibling-like substance Leslie’s three youngest kids. Heavens. They’re in their 30s now. When they came of age,
I don’t know how the heck we survived Labor Day Weekend seven days back. But we did. One of my all-time favorite weather anecdotes seems
Hard to believe, but there are people in my life with even less science acumen than I. They embrace the Left and seem invested in
Hard to believe, with all that’s happened this year and all that’s about to happen before New Year’s, that the timeless habit of autumn is
It’s not like I’m the only person in the country who doesn’t own a TV. I have friends, curiously, all involved in the arts, for
Pert near September, saddlepals. We made it through politics, fires, viruses, quarantines and virtual civil war. Ain’t summer just grand? What say we leave our
I drove through Yellowstone once. I was on my way to Montana for a sibling rescue. It was January and colder than Nancy Pelosi’s heart.
I might have to run a side errand while we’re on today’s horseback ride through local history. It’s so bloody hot. Duh. August. Santa Clarita.
I was a pretty good basketball player. Not great. Not very good. But pretty almost darn good. For a few years, I played on a lower-case
Heavens to Betsy, we’ve got a most interesting and dangerous trail ride ahead of us. As we ride through the Official Time Ranger SCV History
Our twisted culture has become a despotic enabler for me. I’m in the midst of an up-and-down White Collar/Blue Collar Life, one day wearing a
Hey dear saddlepals and saddlepal-ettes. Light’s softly shifting and soon we’ll be burning daylight. Shall we mosey through that spinning vortex into the splendiferous mystic?
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