I’ve been wondering about how to write this. In truth, I’ve been wondering about whether to write it at all.
Galveston County, now is the season to put your money where your mouth is.
I ran into a friend at the Ball High football game last Friday, and we commiserated on Donald Trump’s sweeping victory.
The other day, someone said, “I wish I had more than 24 hours in the day.”
Like a lot of people who write for newspapers, I’ve been wondering since Tuesday how I got so far away from majority thought in America.
From its days as the "Wall Street of the Southwest" to its bustling Cotton Exchange and historic bank vaults, we journey through the city's prosperous past. Learn how its strategic location and deepwater harbor made it a pivotal economic hub, and get a rare peek inside the bank vaults that o…
I can’t help but wonder what my mom might say about everyone being hypnotized by tiny cell phone screens. I know all too well what she called the television.
Like many of you, I’m looking forward to an end to this election season.
Often in life we preoccupy ourselves with the intent of avoiding failure at all costs — as if doing so will guarantee our personal growth and success in life. And then I remember a small dead bush.
I’ve been thinking about regrets this week, mainly because I read an essay by the novelist Ann Patchett. She said her big regret was surrendering to email.
I believe a damn fine biscuit threads people together across this great nation.
I don’t remember anything about my heart attack. It happened 21 years ago on a muggy September Sunday morning.
Sometimes, getting angry is the right thing to do.
Last week I wrote about an encounter with a few conservative friends (“It turns out polite political disagreement is possible,” The Daily News, Oct. 4, 2024).
Some people bet on the ponies, others on the scores of sporting events. Winners, on the other hand, bet on themselves.
Like many of you, I’ve been worrying this year, longer than that, really, that our country has lost its ability to disagree peacefully.
Newton had his apple; I have my acorn.
I don’t recognize the Texas in Ted Cruz’s television ads.
The other day, someone said, “In my next life, I am going to (fill in your favorite aspiration blank).”
One of my friends has told me this story before. He was training to become a doctor, and one of the required courses was medical ethics. He was attending a Jesuit college, and the instructor was a priest.
Last month, I buried my mother and her three sisters.
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