It didn’t dawn on me until I noticed the first “Looking back at the first decade of the 21st century” that I realized the decade is over.
I’ve been living as a statistic for five weeks. The statistic is full of negative connotations, false assumptions.
Trashing public figures has become one of America’s favorite pastimes, a sick, but pleasurable exercise in making us not feel so bad about ourselves.
An old adage says things happen in threes. The “trifecta concept” can reveal itself in strange ways.
My grandparents Andrea Ferraguto and Marie Scala arrived in America on March 20, 1911, on a ship called the Canopic. They left their homeland in Sicily for a magical land called America, a place where anything was possible. They married in 1917 and settled in Boston’s West End, the Italian conclave.
That the Fargo-Moorhead-West Fargo metro population is more than 200,000 still belies the fact that we are a close-knit community. Last weekend, an intruder, a teenage boy, was shot at point-blank range by a homeowner exercising his constitutional right to defend his home and property. The boy died.
You heard it for an entire week: “It’s cold outside, brother,” or whatever characterization you heard or uttered about the recent inescapable, hideously cold weather that descended on us this winter. It was the talk of the town.