A happy Sunday morning to you, dear Santa Clarita saddlepals. As usual, we’ve a most interesting trek waiting for us. Just wiggle a left foot into the stirrup, hoist your fetching heinie up and into the saddle and direct your noble steed to yonder swirling black hole/time vortex.
Even in the worst of situations, unless we’re talking about being plopped alive into an industrial wood chipper like that poor lady in “Fargo,” there’s a lesson to be learned.
Top of a wonderful and quite beautiful Sunday morning to you, dear saddlepals and saddlepalettes. As usual, we’ve a most entertaining trail ride into SCV history ahead, plenty of scenery, plenty of good companionship.
Maybe 50 years from now, I’ll get my official card as a Newhall old-timer, which allows discounts, like free drinking water at Hart Park and no waiting for a counter
I shouldn’t mention the word, “apes” above a whisper. Might spook the horses. BUT, on this beautiful Sunday morn trail ride into the Santa Clarita Valley lore of yesteryear, we are not only going to bump into some (lowering the voice) “apes,” but the bona fide Lord of them.
Truly, Christy Smith, local state assemblywoman for the Santa Clarita’s Fighting 38th, it pains me to write this. Hate like heck to bag on a fellow Hart High Indian. Wish
You know, I had to playfully scold my dad to dress warm enough. Glancing over at the smiling gent on the brown and white paint, I can see he got the memo.
Back before the solar system was formed and the loin cloth invented, I was a Mighty Indian. Hart was the SCV’s only high school then and keeping Law & Order
The final in a series of 52 commemorating the 100-year anniversary of The Signal “The best way to predict your future is to create it.” — Abraham Lincoln We’ve just
I know. I know. It’s going to take some old-fashioned get-up-&-go followed by one of our oldest friends, Moe Mentum. Climb out of them Posturepedics, sofa cushions and designer foam mattresses, you post-Christmas bunk huggers.
Like a meandering skunk, the year 2020 is within smelling distance. It’s time to dust off my miserably failed 2019 New Year’s Resolutions and see if they transfer to 2020.
Ten days from now comes an anniversary I’m not so certain I yearn to acknowledge. At 12:01, Jan. 1, 2020, I will have worked, off and on, for The Signal
A few days to go. So much to do. How about we steal an instant from infinity and ride a little into yesteryear?
“Alas! How little does the memory of these human inhabitants enhance the beauty of the landscape!” — Henry David Thoreau The Mighty Signal didn’t leap, march and even sometimes crawl
I’m not so sure why we need to place a date on Christmas. When I’m at my best, this holy day is with me, no matter what the season. When
Hate to break the bad news. But when we time travel to the back canyons of the Santa Clarita of Yesteryear, you can’t shop. Well. You can shop. But you can’t bring back gifts through the time portal.
Recently, The Mighty Signal scooped the journalism world, sorry planet that it is, by becoming the first major media outlet to have arranged an exclusive interview with infamous Delaware street
Not even winter but it sure feels like winter, don’t it, saddlepals? Nice thing about time traveling in cold weather is that you get to wear your best cowboy duds.
No. 49 in a series of 52 commemorating the 100-year anniversary of The Signal “There’s a cave, we go inside of ourselves because we want to know more, and we
“Give me land, lots of land, with the starry sky above, don’t fence me in…” — Lyrics from Cole Porter Way back when, my buddy Curtis Stone and I plotted
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