By Mrs. Gladys T. Roll

Greetings, dear reader.

Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Gladys, and I have decided to write this column as my small attempt to make sense of a world in which the pilot has gone missing but the plane is still flying.  I have spent a lifetime paying close attention—to people, to things, and to the curious ways we all muddle through—and I figure I owe it to my fellow man to share a few thoughts.

I grew up in a small Midwestern town where we called soda “pop,” supper was on the table at six sharp, and everyone was raised better than to leave the house looking like they had just rolled out of bed.  I taught high school English for forty years, wrangling teenagers, dodging half-baked excuses, and attempting to instill a love of literature in young minds that were usually more interested in passing notes than exams.  Teaching was a joy most days and an endurance test on others, but I would not trade those years for anything.  I believe in the Oxford comma and putting two spaces after a period, and I will die on both hills.

These days, I live in the Kansas town of Hutchinson with my dog, Gerald.  Gerald is a rather loud canine, particularly when it comes to expressing his contempt for the delivery drivers who stream in and out of my neighbors’ driveways.  Why, Gerald asks, must a parade of what are apparently called DoorDashers disturb his naps when each of our neighbors has two feet and a heartbeat?

My husband, Francis, worked for the railroad and had the patience of a saint—though he tested mine every time he insisted his filet mignon be cooked well-done.  He has been gone a while now, but I still find myself setting out the ketchup—just in case his ghost stops by for dinner.

In my retirement, I have taken up gardening, embroidery, and keeping a watchful eye on the goings-on in my neighborhood, town, and online community.  I enjoy traveling, usually alone or with a companion who, like me, has a successful child generous enough to book them first-class plane tickets and suite accommodations.  When I am not busy, you will find me in my favorite chair, nose-deep in a novel, or writing a letter that may or may not make it to the mailbox.

Through this column, I plan to share my candid opinions and frank observations on life’s small absurdities and grand mysteries.  If my musings make you laugh, think, or reconsider posting on social media without punctuation (a kindness to those of us who fear the incomprehensibility of some posts is a sign of our looming dementia), then I will consider my job well done.  And if you cannot enjoy the humor in my writings, you are probably standing too close to the joke.

Take care now,

G. T. Roll
Hutchinson, Kansas