Letters to the editor

Clay Chastain is again in the news about a light-rail plan he campaigned for years ago and still persists like a madness, like a carnival of mystic pursuit, like a sinister merry-go-round of ghost horses, like that dream that makes for a restless nightmare in the middle of the night.

Letters to the editor

Pure partisanship on the part of Republican members of the House of Representatives is a categorical example of abuse of power while they accuse that of President Barack Obama.

Letters to the editor

Once again, middle-class homeowners in the Center School District are getting gouged with another school tax increase (1-8, 816, “Falling property values boost tax rates in Center, Fort Osage”). Most homeowners’ taxes are already going up because of last year’s reassessment even though home values are still well below what they were several years ago.

David Knopf: Speed limits interfere with stopping to smell the roses

Personally, I’m always surprised when I get pulled over. Not only do I hate paying fines and feeling guilty afterward, but I begin to concoct reasons why officers shouldn’t prey on law-abiding citizens who, in moments of harmless mind-wandering or listening to “Born to Be Wild,” temporarily lose track of their speed and begin to spontaneously celebrate life.

Susan Vollenweider: What’s the best spot in birth order?

I’ve read a lot about birth order. It seems to pop up as a trending topic every few years. Research indicates that the order in which we are born into our families will give us insight into our personality traits. That where we fall will dictate more than only having to lug around the title of Oldest, Middle Child or Baby for the rest of our lives.

Susan Vollenweider: It’s about time

The years I’ve lived make me who I am. I feel each of my years. I don’t feel old, although my kids will tell you that I am, but I feel lived. Like a pair of jeans that used to be new and stiff, but over time aged and softened not to perfection, but to comfort.

In a dark December, a starry, starry night

Recently, I asked my father, “What was Christmas like when you were a kid, during the war?” This was a good time to ask, because, I had to get my mind off the constant drum of Macy’s “magic.”