Jesus: Listen up guys, because of the virus spread, the governor has mandated that people can only socialize in groups of 10 or less. Ten is the limit.

Dear Bob,  

You never know when a relic from the past might provide unexpected insight.

I’m calling for a do-over election with more room for write-ins of things trustworthy and pure.

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The time is near for a new phone.

Although I do not have the authority to make this declaration, I will do it anyway: October is the best month of the year. Even this year. Maybe especially this year.  All of the sweetness seems a little sweeter.  

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As is often the case, I’m writing about something that will be outdated by the time you read it. 

Sarcasm, insults, mocking, constant interruptions, accusations, eye rolling, raised voices and name calling.  I found it painful to watch portions of the first Trump-Biden debate because it reminded me too much of some of the worst couples therapy sessions I’ve been apart of.  

I think everyone would agree the summer of 2020 has been the summer of protests.

About a month ago, weary of continued semi-isolation, my wife and I began to think about a fall vacation. Because of canceled plans, we have a bunch of flight credit, so we considered all kinds of options.

It’s a typical early afternoon in the Springfield Police Department’s Grammar Division when the phone rings.

Although it would be pompous of me to imply I have enough correspondence from readers to have a regular feature called “Bob’s Mail Bag” or something of that nature, I do occasionally receive emails from folks who want to comment on something I write here. 

Early in the pandemic, I promised not to write about it every week.

Spiritual directors in the Christian tradition have been utilizing the Enneagram for decades, but in recent years the awareness and interest in the Enneagram has steadily grown and gone mainstream.

Good Monday morning to all, and here’s hoping we’ll get a short breather this week before the political ads start running close on the heels of the party conventions.

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Today is Aug. 26 but it feels like March 156, the sensation that we’ve been repeating the same day over and over since mid-March. That’s when the coronavirus established itself throughout the U.S., and the real possibility of contracting the highly contagious disease forced inside our homes …

One of the phrases that made the 2019 “Banished Words List,” an annual record of overused words and phrases published annually by Lake Superior State University, was, “Most important election of our time.” 

When my sweet middle child, my only daughter, was a freshman at Auburn University years ago, she made an exasperated call to me on a Friday afternoon.  

It has occurred to me that, somewhere over the past several months during weak moments, Tennessee Governor Bill Lee and Nashville Mayor John Cooper have had to wonder why in the world they wanted the jobs they now have.

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My column from last week, celebrating the start of baseball, was outdated by the time it was posted.

“Now is the winter of our discontent / Made glorious summer by this sun of York,” recites the character Gloucester in Shakespeare’s “Richard III.” 

It is almost the end of July and we are in the season of those annoying “pop-up” thunderstorms that seem to make their way into every weather forecast we hear on a daily basis.

Last week I went to the customer service desk of a local department store and said to the clerk, “I’d like to return 2020. It’s not working.”