Opinion

From the Editor’s Desk
I usually don’t title my columns each week, but if I were to, this one would be titled “Small town spirit: from column to real life”. A couple of weeks ago, I sat down at my kitchen table which often serves as my desk because I have first of all, a nice view, and second of all, plenty of natural light there, and wrote one of those “isn’t small town life the best” kinds of columns. I noted at that time that one of the best things about small towns is how people step up for their community members when its needed. Well, the universe must have decided I needed a little live action view of exactly what I wrote about because last week, my house became Exhibit A.

Milan Community News
Help. Somebody trapped me in a refrigerator. At least that’s what I feel like. It’s too early for turning the furnace on in the house. I don’t own enough electric heaters to heat the entire house. I am mighty miserable. I go for a ride because I can turn on the heat and heated seat in the car. If this was late October, I would be reconciled to this weather, but not early September.

From the Editor’s Desk
There are certain phone calls that send a shockwave through your chest before the first sentence is even over. This weekend I got not one, but two of them, each from a different loved one. Both began with the exact same opening line “I crashed”.

Beyond Reason: The killing…
This morning, before my first cup of coffee, I took twelve lives. By happy hour, another twenty-four. I counted.

From the Editor’s Desk
There’s a certain kind of magic to living in a small town that means that you just know that you’re going to run into three people you know during every trip to the grocery store before you even make it out of the produce aisle. The lettuce might wilt before you get home, but at least you’ll know who’s remodeling their kitchen, whose cousin’s dog is missing and what’s going into the old empty building on Prentice Street.

Beyond Reason: The GOAT…
It’s true that here at Beyond Reason, we occasionally make fun of things. Bunting. Cornhole. My seven-year-old daughter. But perhaps the leitmotif — the running joke readers have come to expect — is on pickleball.

From the Editor’s Desk
I’ve been busily working on my outside gardening skills this summer, attempting to coax life out of the dirt. For all the effort, it has resulted in one very large cherry tomato plant that seems determined to overtake the entire back yard, approximately seven carrots, a mass of lettuce, one monster basil plant and a few struggling pepper plants. There was also a frequent ritual of watering, weeding and checking for signs of life on days I didn’t have the luxury of rain taking care of those duties.

Milan Community News
School. Already. But I haven’t had all the summer fun I was allotted. Can’t we just have another month? week? day? I know this happens every year, but I’m never ready for the ends. Even though I am getting tired of cutting grass, I don’t want it to quit growing. Especially if it means cold and snow. Uff. One would think, that at my age I could gracefully deal with ends and beginnings. But no.

Beyond Reason: Dear You-Know-Who…
I believe it was Justin Bieber who once asked: Is it too late now to say sorry? I can’t tell you his conclusion because I have not listened to the whole song. I mean, I’ve started the song and it’s come to an end, but the mind wanders. That said, after a quick search, it seems like J.B. left the issue vaguely unresolved. To me, that sounds unsatisfying and dumb. So I kept searching and those on the internet that say they know assure me: it is generally never too late to say sorry. This teaches us the answer you’re looking for is out there if you’re just willing to look.

From the Editor’s Desk
Some people spend their day off curled up with a book, maybe catching up on sleep, maybe enjoying brunch with a friend. I, on the other hand, recently decided my one solitary day of freedom would be the time to conquer every project around the house I’ve been ignoring, basically since I moved in a year ago.