Opinions

Most of what I write is true.
Sabra, for example, was moving our raised bed garden boxes 50 feet to the right for no apparent reason, and I was watching her from my office window overlooking the backyard. It was a blustery, cold day and I did pull down the shades because it was distracting to see her drag the heavy frames 1 inch at a time to the new destination.
But she did not dig a trench for the asparagus. You think me a total cad? That was my job.

Whether you believe in ghosts or not, our move in 2005 to our current home in Iowa City was supernatural in another way: Sabra was phenomenal in getting every last detail accomplished.

The ghost is back.
Long time readers of this column know I have history with the other-worldly dating back to the 1990s when I lived in one of the half-dozen, 100-year-old, two-story brick buildings that make up downtown Solon. My loft apartment was originally the meeting place for the local Masonic Lodge, a mystical, civic service organization with roots in the Middle Ages.

One of the plusses of this past year is I made a new fishing buddy.
Gene and I met through the First Christian Church, in Coralville. During idle conversation, I learned he goes trout fishing regularly in Northeastern Iowa, and he invited me to join him for several trips last summer.
It didn’t take long to realize there’s something quirky and endearing about Gene. While driving to his favorite fishing holes, for example, he is on the constant look out for good rocks.

Being one of those people they refer to when they say someone can’t walk and chew gum at the same time, I used to think that implied a lack of physical coordination, but I’m more inclined to believe it’s a matter of having a one-track mind. There may be people who can drive a car and talk on a cellphone simultaneously, but I know myself well enough to know I’m not one of them. I can’t even read the newspaper and drink coffee at the same time. Sip. Read. Sip. Read. Throw in a doughnut and watch me short-circuit.