Julie Lynem

Since my family moved to Arroyo Grande two years ago, we have been pleased by our decision to put down roots in the quaint, historic town.

Like many Americans, I, too, have vivid memories of where I was and what I was doing on Sept. 11, 2001.

For my brother, I’m sure it started out as a social activity, something fun and exciting to do with his buddies. He was a teenager when he began smoking pot, and I remember the pungent odor, seeing marijuana cigarettes rolled tightly in white paper and the paraphernalia in his room.

It’s been nearly two weeks since former U.S. Department of Agriculture official Shirley Sherrod was forced to resign, and I’m still hopeful that some good comes out of this shameful saga.

After several years of digging out of this economic mess, just hearing the word recession might be like nails scraping a chalkboard.

The Mixture No. 79 tobacco my dad packed into his pipe is one of my earliest childhood memories. The aroma filled our home whenever he felt the urge to strike his match and take a few puffs, just as I imagined Sherlock Holmes would have done.

Sometimes in life, an opportunity opens up when all doors have closed. We meet a person who touches us in an extraordinary way. We receive an unimaginable, even magical gift or a chance to begin anew.

For Lucy Lepley, seeing gallons of British Petroleum crude gush into the Gulf Coast is like reliving Avila Beach’s nightmare all over again.

The American public is angry and afraid, and understandably so.

An African-American teenager was driving home when a police cruiser pulled up from behind, stopping him in front of a home in a predominantly white St. Louis suburb.