Pam Stone

Paul is currently beginning his second week of leading a tour of historic rose gardens throughout England, and the rest of us, stateside, are following along with the daily photos he is posting on social media: Sissinghurst, Mottisfont Abbey, a lunch and wine tasting with Lord Throckmorton o…

“This is how old I am,” I thought, as I maneuvered my shopping cart around a display of flip flops and just missed an orderly line of patio umbrellas, “I remember when grocery stores only sold food.”

Driving home after a speaking engagement, it was a beautiful evening and I lowered — no one says “rolled down” anymore, have you noticed? — the windows to take advantage of the cool night air and the scent of mown fields that poured past like a green river.

“Pauuuuuuuullllllllll!” I screamed, hands on either side of my mouth, as loud as I could.

I don’t like to think of myself as one of those people who, in order to fill some soulless void within themselves, purchase new things as a distraction from what they consider to be the emptiness in their life.

You know when you’re googling “dog reincarnation” that you either are dealing with insomnia (I was), or some highly interesting, if not entertaining, events have been occurring.

I’ve always said that columnists that resort to using lists in their weekly musings are being lazy and not putting in the effort to dig deep to find something new and interesting to comment about.

“Why do you do it?” Paul asked after inadvertently finding me standing in the kitchen, eyes shut with arms crossed over my chest, wobbling about with one foot held off the floor. “Why do you read these online medical things that end up scaring the hell out of you?”

I won’t refer to them as 180,000 Phoenixes rising from the ashes, but something rather heart-lifting happened after the devastating fire that destroyed the roof of Notre Dame Cathedral.

Perhaps you saw this fascinating story on the evening news: A 71-year-old Scottish woman named Jo Cameron has lived a lifetime never once feeling pain.

When I had gone to bed early with the dogs, determined for victory against recent bouts of insomnia, Posey, suddenly jumped off the bed and bounded down the stairs giving Paul, who was nearly dozing in the wing chair while listening to music, the “I have to go, NOW,” look.

I tend to be gullible. And as April Fool’s rolled around, I was beyond gullible because I fell for not one, but two hoaxes. One was an online ad in a horse magazine for a product which would benefit riders with “weak bladders and legs the length of gerbils who have difficulty remounting once…

You learn very quickly with a houseful of critters that you will either have a clean, prettily appointed home or you won’t.

Those of you who have followed my column for the last couple of years will know of whom I speak when I mention the dear gentleman that I met, Junior, after delivering a Mobile Meal to him and then promptly backing into the culvert on the side of his driveway and finding the back wheel of my …

Holy cow — paying a bribe of half a million bucks, far more than an entire education would actually cost, to get a kid into a top university?

I’m not exactly sure how accurate it is, but there is a study that’s been floating around for about a year that declares teenage pregnancy, drinking and drug use is at an all-time low, following years of decline.