In my never-ending quest to explore the beauty of the four corners of America, I was on the road again for a brief sojourn this week, this time with my buddy Art, yes, the man of $1,000 chicken fame.

A couple weeks back I shared some insightful words which made up “The Code of the West.” Some of them really got me thinking like, “Do what has to be done” and “Ride for the brand.”

A rumor was circulating a few months back that a Buc-ees was being considered in Peculiar. As like most rumors, it was indeed just a rumor, it appears started as a joke.

I have without a doubt written July 3 or the numerical equivalent, 7-3, more than any other date in my life. Since it happens to be the anniversary of my birth, I use it regularly on medical forms, legal documents and even to identify myself at the pharmacy.

Last week, I wrote about things I had or hadn’t seen. That was not the original plan, it was just how it turned out. So even though it was unintentional, this week it is intentional, so I am calling it part two.

This is one of those weeks when I have so many things on my mind, but most of them are things I don’t want to write about, so I will share a few odds and ends and maybe tie up some loose ends.

I will admit I am an emotional guy. I can get very excited and happy when things are good. I can be very sad and I readily admit I am a big boy who cries.

My wife, Leslie, was impressed when she first learned both Jason Sudeikis and Paul Rudd graduated from the same high school as me. After knowing that, she gleefully shared with everyone that she could name the three hottest men to ever graduate from Shawnee Mission West: Jason Sudeikis, Paul Rudd and her husband.

Last week, the area schools closed out the school year and children from kindergarten to graduating seniors performed the annual ritual of cleaning out their desks or lockers or wherever they store things these days and hauled off a year’s worth of rubbish.

I normally like to use this space to share a humorous tale, a personal memory or discuss a pressing issue I think folks should know about. On rare occasions, I use this column to complain. As much as I dislike doing so, that is what I am left with this week.

My buddy Art just left after spending a couple weeks in town. I have talked about Art before, he is the one whose daughter spent $1,000 in vet bills for her chicken. He and his wife were visiting before going home to North Carolina to pack so they could move to Colorado.

I’m going to tell you a joke, but first I need to set it up. Sunday is Mother’s Day, a special 24 hours we set aside to honor the moms in our lives. While I think of my mother almost every day, the memories get even more precious as the holiday approaches.

The week at the newspaper office begins and ends on Tuesdays. We have a deadline to complete the paper: end of week.

It is sad to admit that when people ask me what my hobbies or interests are, my most-truthful answer is watching television. I want to be the type who can say “I build bird houses” or “I like studying the migratory habits of the North American Hummingbird.” I would like to say that, but most truthfully, I like sitting around watching television.

While the real significance of Easter is the celebration of Jesus’ resurrection, most of the observance has turned into the more secular realm including bunnies, baskets and eggs.

There’s no word to describe the feeling of going downhill quickly and backward on your first roller coaster ride in more than 18 months. Exhilarating. Frightening. Shocking. Exciting.

Next week marks the eighth anniversary of the founding of the newspaper, which has evolved in today’s Tribune and Times. It was the second week of April in 2017 that the Harrisonville Star premiered, the passion of the paper’s founder Pat Thomas.

Saturday night my wife, Leslie, and I attended a Mickey Dolenz concert. For those too young to remember, Dolenz was a member of the 60’s band, the Monkees.

I have been waiting three months to make this comment: it is spring. I am not sure if yesterday’s bout of cold precipitation was merely one final insult from Old-Man Winter or a reminder that simply being spring doesn’t mean it will always feel like spring, but regardless; it provides a great-deal of happiness to me to say winter is over.

My mother liked holidays and by that I don’t mean just the big ones like Christmas and Easter, but every holiday that dotted the calendar.

There will likely never be an end to the tug-of-war between old-fashioned morality and modern economic realities. Such was the case Monday night as the Harrisonville Board of Aldermen voted 5-3 against an ordinance which would have expanded the hours of operation for marijuana dispensaries in the city.

Sometimes you can look at something every day and never really see it. For example, the other day I was being tortured in traffic up in Kansas City. By tortured I mean I had to sit in traffic and wait for a light to turn green. It is driving in such conditions that remind me why I hated working in the city.

I am not sure there are many people in the world who hate losing as much as I do. President Trump once said on a campaign stump: “We’re going to win so much, you will almost get tired of winning.”

I wasn’t really sure what to write about this week, after all Punxsutawney Phil made his annual appearance on Sunday and said we had six more weeks of winter, so I am bummed.

I have a couple stories in mind about last week. While both are related, they are meaningful in much different ways.