Lonny Cain

Right now I’m fighting an urge to pull out some old LPs or maybe my 45s. But I will put that off for now ... so I can tell you why.

OK. I must tell you about my fingernail. The right hand, thumbnail to be exact.

When I spill out thoughts and personal observations each week I sometimes feel like the great pretender. Or perhaps the better word is “wimp.”

Oh, the things people will do for money. And television lets us watch them.

So many things are changing. Change. It’s in my head where I’ve been replaying that song, the one where Quincy Jones laments the steamroller we call time.

I was in seventh grade when I had my first revealing eye exam. When I was condemned to a life of wearing glasses.

“Reading cursive can now be added to the list of most-wanted skills – at least according to the U.S. National Archives and Records Administration,” reports Danielle Jennings in People magazine.

Every week I drag part of my life story to the curb. Want to know more about me? Then join me at the end of my driveway on Tuesday night.

My friend Joan was lamenting the speed of life.

A bit of Jimmy Carter’s legacy spilled into my world last week.

Oh, Henry, Henry, Henry. You had no idea what the future would bring. By that I mean more “brain rot.”

The clock was nudging noon. Then I had to laugh at my first thought.

I talk to Mom and Dad now and then. Their photo. That’s not unusual, right?

This happens every year. Every Christmas season. And I cannot shake it.

“Keep the home fires burning.” I borrow those words from the British song of the same name composed during World War I.