It’s difficult to grasp how much the world we knew has changed in just a handful of days due to the coronavirus.

In case you missed it, a letter to the editor published earlier this week (“Letter: 'Skinny jeans,' pajama pants display a cheap message,” Feb. 25) has gotten a lot of attention online — not for its compelling insight or convincing prose but for its cheap shot at women, in particular our attire.

Most stores go above and beyond to roll out the red carpet for their customers. Apparently that isn’t so at Walmart — which is guarded as if Fort Knox gold is inside, not rollback prices on supersized Arm & Hammer OxiClean fresh scent liquid laundry detergent and 48-count packages of Ene…

Hoping to score an interview with a city bus driver for a story I was working on, I forfeited the warmth, privacy and comfort of my vehicle to wait in a Frankfort Transit shelter outside Chick-Fil-A on Thursday afternoon. But it wasn’t until two or three stops into the ride that I realized h…

A few months back loyal State Journal reader Bob Gullette, a man about town if ever there was one, dropped me an email suggesting that I pen a column on my “new life as an editor as opposed to a reporter.” My response was that it would bore readers to death but he insisted so I figured I’d g…

As an avid college football fan my excitement over watching some bowl games during a few days off between the holidays quickly fizzled when I checked out the lineup. Apparently, I would only be able to catch a handful of the ridiculously large number of games because of the way they are spaced out.

With three loud, rambunctious kids all born within five years of each other, the holidays in our house have always tended to be more “National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation” than “Miracle on 34th Street.”

After three days of having two teenage boys and a tween girl at home over Thanksgiving break combined with the fact that we are only half decorated for Christmas, our house looks like a cross between a winter wonderland and a frat house afterparty (minus the beer cans).

It was 23 years ago today — in what seems like another lifetime — that I achieved one of my dreams, but quite frankly the only reason I even remember the date is because it is also my brother’s birthday.

As my husband will readily attest, I am abominable at visualizing which Tupperware container will hold the dinner leftovers. Without fail I pick one that is too small and end up splattering the counter and myself with the contents while attempting to snap the lid shut.

After spending a handful of days visiting my folks in the Maryland mountains over fall break, I was overjoyed when we returned home to Central Kentucky with its friendly faces and hospitality. You see, there are certain Southern mannerisms that are frowned upon in northern states.

With her cheerful answers to questions I didn’t ask and her inability to shut up no matter how many times I repeat myself, there are moments when it feels as though we have a fourth kid in the house — Alexa (the Amazon Echo).

Like most small towns, Frankfort has its quirks, and if you don’t speak the native tongue it can take a while to find your way around town.

When it comes to shopping the only thing worse than the crush at the grocery for staples before an anticipated snowstorm is back to school shopping.

Message received from my mom at 11:42 a.m. Friday: FYI we no longer have a telephone land line.

If you have noticed friends looking quite a bit older in your social media news feeds lately, don’t fret. You haven’t traveled to the future. FaceApp is just the latest fad phone application that allows users a glimpse of what they may look like as they age.

Oftentimes we are so immersed in the hustle and bustle of our daily lives that it takes something monumental to make us stop and count our blessings. A pair of local tragedies in the past nine days has certainly given me a new appreciation for the fragility of life.