“You just can’t trust that Don Kuhl anymore. He has missed numerous blog posts over the last few weeks. Has he quit aging on Monday, Wednesday and Friday?” I owe loyal readers an honest explanation. I had a few minor health and personal issues pop up that made …
My mother, Irene, died on May Day 1999. I briefly spoke at her funeral in Boone, Iowa, recalling the highlights of her beautiful life. My dad, Vern, died later that same year and a small service was held in Carson City, Nevada. My siblings asked me to say a few words in his …
The skunk is back on our property. An unmistakable smell hangs in the air. Our dogs have been sprayed again, and it’s my job to clean them up. By the end of this challenging task, I smell like a combo of skunk and tomato juice. I know when I’m in over my head. I hire …
I’ve never paid much attention to my hair. In my youth, it was a dark brown. Then it became speckled gray, then all gray. I don’t ever recall one person saying, “My Don, what great hair you have.” Since the age of 70, I’ve noticed I’m losing some of it. I don’t think I’m …
I rarely read a book twice. “The Art of Dying Well” by Katy Butler is an exception. I just started a third reading of certain chapters. It’s changing how I view the few or many years I have yet to create. The beauty of this practical guide is in the title’s second word – …
I know all of you are poem lovers like me… right? I fell in love with a poem by Mary Oliver titled “I Worried.” A crucial message came home to me in a beautiful manner. I can’t come close to saying it as well as Mary did, so I’m sharing her poem: I worried a …
When he woke up, Charlie was in a new land. Gone were the big, green trees and the fat squirrels and the balcony rail. In their place was a vast world where the sky went on forever. Big, bold mountains poked up everywhere. And sand, warm wonderful sand, carpeted the entire …
Charlie became an apartment cat… that was for sure. On his balcony rail in Madison, Wisconsin, high above the playground of rabbits and squirrels and other neat stuff, Charlie would play out his adventures. His paws would twitch as he dreamed of exciting romps and …
This is a story about a cat named Charlie and the lady who loved him. It all started when a small box mysteriously arrived outside the lady’s doorway. A tiny, gray kitty with bold, white markings popped his head through the top of the box and darted under the big rocking …
My boss Gordon told me for years not to sweat the tiny stuff. I wish he were here tonight. My bedroom and bathroom are being invaded by the tiny stuff – little, black ants who are parading around in their straight lines, marching as if no one can conquer them. I don’t know …
