Spring in Missouri is commonly known as gardening time.

You have to be careful what you write in newspapers or you could be faced with half a dozen armed men who disagree.

It was all fun and games at first, but then the pain made it serious.

It was like trying to teach a chimp to work a toaster.

That is, if a chimp had the slightest interest in learning to make toast. Which I doubt. It has opposable thumbs. It can hitch a ride to McDonald’s and have a sausage and egg biscuit for breakfast and read the morning newspaper if it wants.

Higher costs of fuel, food prices on the rise and darn all those bills, bills bills.

It seems impossible to even imagine that this time a year ago, I was following a girl across South Dakota and Nebraska, with more than a little trepidation about where I was headed and what the future held for me.

She was giving me The Look.

That concentrated stare a dog uses to get whatever it wants. Ears up. Eyes bright. Absolute stillness. It’s not a matter of if I give in, it’s when. And she knows it.

“I gave a letter to the postman, he put it his sack.
Bright an early next morning, he brought my letter back.”

Those lyrics from the popular Elvis Presley song, with only the slightest adjustment, sum up where we are in the payment-rebate game initiated for taxpayers by President George W. Bush, the Federal Reserve Board, and our elected Congressional whizzes.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday are big nights in the Goff family.

Mess with people in a small town and you’ll quickly learn it will cost you. It’s a lesson representatives of the Northwest Foundation will likely learn if they don’t address public concerns regarding a multi-million dollar alumni center.