Month: August 2019

Summer’s over Sure was fun Sang our songs Got some sun But days are shorter Nights are cool Time to get Back to school Always comes Way too fast Longer we wish Summer would last But we don’t get To… Continue Reading →

Be a laborer, great or small, do it well, or not at all Every Labor Day weekend I either write something about that little ditty or at least think about it. My friend and former colleague Sarellen (yes, they made… Continue Reading →

I stumbled upon an article on delish.com listing “The Most Iconic Sandwich in Every State” and immediately scrolled down to Pennsylvania wondering what ours might be. When I got there I felt silly for wondering. It’s the cheesesteak, of course.… Continue Reading →

A recent trip to the Delaware shore got me thinking about something I shared in a blog several years ago. My measure of a pizza, I wrote back then, is how the leftovers hold up cold the next morning. My… Continue Reading →

The Pittston Tomato Festival features a wide variety of ethnic foods, primarily Italian, but make no mistake about it, this four-day party is an All American festival. That’s what went through my mind Thursday evening when as part of the… Continue Reading →

The official name is the Pittston Tomato Festival. The Pittston is not there because it’s a Tomato Festival located in Pittston. It’s there because this is a festival celebrating the Pittston Tomato. The Pittston Tomato is the unique tomato grown… Continue Reading →

In my column a couple of weeks ago I talked about how much I appreciate the flood lights lighting up St. John the Evangelist Church in Pittston every night. You can view the majestic steeples from various points around the… Continue Reading →

The commercial proclaims it has the answer to wrinkled clothing: dryer sheets. Look at this shirt. A wrinkled mess. Look at this shirt. Appears to have come right from a professional laundry. But it didn’t. It came right out of… Continue Reading →

“A man may work from sun to sun, but a woman’s work is never done.” I knew this old adage (some say it dates to the Revolutionary War) was true when I first heard it as a kid in the… Continue Reading →

The trepidation bordering on embarrassment I felt at not only being the oldest person at the Dawes concert Tuesday night at the Kirby Center but also being in the front row, a section commonly referred to as “the pit,” quickly… Continue Reading →