Sunday is Grandparents Day, and although my own grandparents have been gone for many years now, there isn’t a day when I don’t utilize the valuable lessons taught by my four amazing elders.
As most sports fans will attest, you become a creature of routine. Certain times of the year usher you into a strange universe. Such was the case this past week.
In a few short weeks, 300-pound men will be ramming their heads into each other for our enjoyment. It will be time for football, and I couldn’t be happier.
Born into a Cajun family that not only loves to cook, but also operated restaurants, you learn at an early age to appreciate good food, traditional family recipes and the joy of begin around family in that setting.
Some time back in the winter I received an obscure email, as editors normally do in our business. It was one of these wacky surveys that we have sent to us — daily, it seems — out of the blue.
Since I’m knocking on the door of turning 60 years old, I’m a little mellow these days. I don’t get riled up as quickly as I once did, when my Cajun blood would boil when ignited by some things I witnessed in the world.
When you grow up in a small town or spend considerable time in a small town living and breathing as part of the community, you become emotionally invested.
