Little Big Moments

Doomscrolling is the act of reading depressing or worrying content, especially on one’s handheld...

Last Saturday, I joined a hundred or so runners for the Haw River Island Ramble in Saxapahaw. A...

At first, I wasn’t concerned that I’d left my eclipse glasses at home that morning. I figured...

I heard Chapelboro’s own Victor Lewis say on the air that music with more synthesizers makes his...

As each of my children has gone to kindergarten, I have had occasion to think of my own experience at that age. Most of all, I remember my teacher.

On Sunday, I was part of a ceremony to recognize the beginning of a pastor’s service to a church. The one who was commissioned is a friend of mine, a gentleman who has already accomplished much in his life.

Here’s a small ode to the tiny brush that an umpire uses to clean the home plate. After whipping this brush out of the belt pocket, an experienced ump can clean the plate with only a few discrete snaps of the wrist.

The other day, my attention was directed to the nearby treetops, where a half-dozen crows were making a racket. A flock of these black birds is actually called a murder; maybe they were up to no good. Another winged creature thought so. A distinctive cry pierced the air, and a red-tailed hawk streaked into view like a feathered arrow.

My eight-year-old wanted a computer game. Instead of negotiating with me, he opted to set up a table in front of our house and sell merchandise.

The annual physical at the doctor’s office. You’ve been there. You know the drill. How the automatic glass doors open to reveal a receptionist, pleasant but brisk, who pulls you up on the computer. You are a number — first a birthday, then an insurance policy.