Joe Sullivan

Apparently, I'm not the only one who thinks we have just endured — and maybe are still experiencing — one of the gloomiest winters and springs in recent memory.

It's hard to believe that, until last Saturday, my wife and I had never been to Brazeau, a tiny Perry County community with a well-deserved reputation for hospitality that stretches back 200 years.

The official dogwood-azalea festival in Charleston, Mo., was last weekend. But if you visit what I consider to be the prettiest town in Missouri this weekend, you won't be disappointed.

I love the Internet. With a high-speed connection, I have instant access to the world. I can't tell you how often I use Internet resources every day. I find out how to spell names of important people. Is it "General David Petraeus" or some other spelling? Click. Click. Click. There it is.

My wife, over the years, has wisely observed that our personal calamities, no matter how awful, pale by comparison to so many around us and the millions who suffer around the world.

You know, the older I get, the less riled up I am. Things that used to set me off don't bother me at all these days. What's going on?

It may seem a bit unusual for one columnist to be writing about another, but I am not the least bit uncomfortable as I gather a few words about Sam Blackwell, whose column occupies this space on Thursdays.

It would be hard to imagine that anyone who ever met Jim Drury didn't remember him.

Those sinkholes in south Cape Girardeau have a lot of folks scratching their heads, and a bunch of them are so-called experts.Sinkholes come in all shapes and sizes. Some are just big enough to swallow a good-sized teenager. Others would accommodate a good-sized house.

For at least 20 years I've been getting a catalog from the Vermont Country Store. There is something about Vermont-style cheddar cheese that makes my mouth water and, from time to time, makes me order a sample. Or two.

Deer hunting in Cape Girardeau? Bring it on. Start at the Sullivan house. Please.

One of the photographs accompanying last Monday's story about the women from Altenburg who have been cleaning other folks' houses since the Depression is on my desk. Every time I look at those four faces — Arleen, Lillian, Betty, Myrtel — my day improves.

I've heard so many extraordinary stories since the ice storm arrived Monday night. I can't top them. Like so many of you, my wife and I listened in the darkness as ice-covered limbs crashed into our yard, down on our roof and onto a metal garden shed.

Earlier this week the first annual and regular national convention of TIRED (ThisIsReallyEconomicallyDumb.gov.us) was held in our fair city. Delegates took up most of two tables at the coffee shop.

What have we gotten ourselves into? By "we" I mean my wife and me.

Bill Needham stopped by one day this week. Bill and I don't know each other very well, but we share one thing -- that I know of -- other than the color of our hair: We both love the opera. The opera.

There's not much going on in our nation's capital these days. I can tell, because a prominent United States senator is getting a lot of media attention for targeting rich televangelists who drive expensive cars and live in ritzy houses.