We saw one of Sue’s favorite cousins recently and had a chance to catch up. We have eight kids between us — four each — so catching up took awhile. They mentioned their son in Seattle. I was surprised to hear he had moved from Salt Lake City.

Last week, I called a friend to borrow a planer so I could shave off the top of a door that wouldn’t close, but he had loaned it to somebody else and couldn’t remember who.

A couple days ago, I ordered three black T-shirts on the Banana Republic website to replace the three black T-shirts that have spots on them.

A few days ago, I went to the dermatologist. It was time, time to see if there was anything that could be done.

How many passwords do I have? I’m not sure. I’d rather not think about it except there is no not thinking about passwords unless you want to jump on an ice floe and drift toward the sunset.

My Chromebook died over the weekend. Computers are like dogs. Usually, they get sick over the weekend when the only remedy is the weekend vet at double the price.

My father-in-law John is one heck of a guy. He’s told me that himself. And if he hadn’t, his wife, Bev, known by appreciative family members as the saint, would confirm it.

Ken Burns may be the smartest person I’ve ever met but it’s not like we’re super good friends. We shook hands. He couldn’t pick me out of a one-person lineup, but I could him, even if he were flanked by Rhodes Scholars and astrophysicists.

During a recent visit to Mammoth to see my mother, she dropped a box of Milton's Multi-Grain crackers in the kitchen. She lost her grip on the rectangular package and it fell, dislodging five or six crackers which skittered and broke on the floor.

I grabbed the frozen cinnamon raisin bagel from the freezer and tapped it on the counter. The bagel was as hard as a hockey puck. Good thing we have a big, powerful Whirlpool microwave that has been a source of pride since it was installed six years ago.

Somebody called me an idiot recently. Had it been a friend, I would have understood and perhaps even agreed with him, but he was a stranger, so there were questions.

He’s way too modest to think I’d write about him, but I’m not waiting until he’s dead. As fit and healthy as he is, he will probably outlive me and I will have lost my chance altogether.

People were inspired by Joe Seay, they admired him and some were afraid of him. Brothers Mike and Ron Valenti wrote about Seay’s life and recent passing.

Recently, I scheduled a massage with Linda at Foot Reflexology on the recommendation of reader Shirley Skenfield, who, like most people in the world, has a stiff neck.

A friend at the pool walked over to the lane in which I was swimming and said, “I’m so sorry you are leaving the paper. We’re going to miss you. Be proud of what you’ve done.”

I was in Ventura at Lure, one of my favorite restaurants. If you haven’t been, treat yourself the next time you are visiting your mansion in Montecito.

My specialty is the half-dead, but alive enough to sow the seeds of encouragement without promising the blossoming of fulfillment.

It doesn’t get better than driving up the 99. I feel like I can do the drive with my eyes closed. The valley is my home and valley people are my people.

This was meant to be my goodbye column. I’d been planning it for weeks much in the same way that people plan the speech they will be delivering at the Oscars or when they accept their Pulitzer.

This was a different kind of family trip. No water skiing on a blue-to-the bottom lake. No food hanging from a Sugar pine to keep the bears away. No on a lot of things but yes on meaningful, magical and memorable.

A couple days ago, I ordered the FIVE Star FS8801 Deep Tissue 3D Kneading Shiatsu Neck, Shoulder, Back, Leg and Foot Massager Pillow with Heat, Beige. It was $43.29 all in. I wasn’t expecting a miracle but when you have a stiff neck, you’ll pay for a miracle, if a miracle is available.

It’s easy to get mad at John Sweetser because he’s tuned up about every reporter and columnist for the paper over the last 30 years. Just when you think you’re hitting a lick, John will unceremoniously rip the Pulitzer Prize from your sweaty grip by informing you that you have not done your …

I think I spiked the football too soon. Did what I tell other people not to do. Performed a victory dance in the end zone and while I was celebrating, caught my spikes in the turf and did a faceplant.