Gage is home for Christmas break, which completely changes the dynamic in our household. Now in his second year of college, it’s his second time coming home for the holidays and essentially rerouting everyone else’s routines from morning (if he’s up before noon) until night. ground and sleeping quarters. Another major shake-up is the grocery situation. All of a sudden, a gallon of milk only lasts two days instead of a week, and the rotisserie chicken looks like a vulture had a turn before everyone else. Due to Gage living in a house full of teenage boys during the school year and taking an occasional turn on what they call “crud” duty (kitchen clean-up), everyone enjoys being chewed out for not thoroughly rinsing out their dishes after a meal.

By Bob Simmons, CEO, Simmons Multimedia Our daughter, Andrea, has flown off to Denver for the week between Christmas and New Year’s and we wound up with her dog, Hugo. Hugo is a little yippy dog that likes to bark…at me.

I agree with Kari Phillips in that having Christmas in the middle of the week should certainly be illegal. You’ll read more about the weird things that time does during the holidays and the feelings of limbo in Sara Goodman’s column that we experience during these odd off days.

This week’s article lands in between Christmas and New Year’s. When these holidays land in the middle of the week like they did this year, it creates this weird post-big holiday and pre-another big holiday state of limbo where you’re not sure what day it is, time is irrelevant, you’re on day three or four of ham sandwiches for lunch, and you’re almost out of the fudge you’ve had for breakfast every morning for a week. Due to everyone’s lack of awareness of the general hour of day, no one bats an eye when you switch from Folgers to Black Box Pinot at noon. In fact, this behavior is not unexpected, especially if you’re sitting on the couch, donning your flannel pajamas and fuzzy socks, surrounded by the general provisions needed for a day of nothingness – the remote, a box of Kleenexes, a back scratcher, an unopened book about the pioneers and a plastic container of frosted Christmas cookies.

As 2024 draws to a close, I want to say thank you for spending a portion of your precious time with us. Whether you’re reading one of our newspapers, listening to one of our radio stations, scrolling our websites or social media pages, viewing our cable access channels, or spending time with friends at our wine bar, Diane and I sincerely appreciate your readership, listenership and patronage. We know you have lots of choices and we are honored that you chose to include our brands in your day to day plans.

When I was younger, I got sick with strep throat quite often. I can remember the first time I had it. My throat felt like it was on fire, my head was pounding, my whole body ached, and my stomach hurt. My dad’s solution for a sore throat was Vicks VapoRub slathered on the neck with an old sock of his wrapped over the top, secured with a safety pin. Being sick did not exempt you from chores such as cutting up venison into smaller chunks for sausage. I have a vivid memory of doing just that, and I know a picture exists in a drawer somewhere of me chopping away at a hunk of deer meat while sporting a large sock pinned securely around my neck.

I suppose there’s a reason it’s called fishing, not catching. I had the pleasure of ice fishing in a friend’s popup last week and had a blast, even though nothing bit.

An overnight, out-of-town trip has me behind a day at work (a Monday much less), so I’m having to reread my column from last week regarding not letting the holiday rush get to you. It doesn’t help that I suddenly realized that Christmas is next week when in my mind it was a couple weeks away.

By Bob Simmons, CEO, Simmons Multimedia Like many of you, I fondly cherish my childhood memories, particularly as they relate to Christmas. Last week I shared with you sensitive medical information from the Big Book of Bob’s Body. This week we’ll travel together down memory lane with a handful of seasonal photos from Bob’s Big Baby Book.

Last Sunday I did something I’ve never done before and hope to never do again - I drove from Bottineau to Bismarck. I’m sure you’re wondering what prompted this 3-hour joyride through the middle of the state on various obscure roads, past a surprising number of homes around Brush Lake, past the tiny towns of Kief and Butte and right through the heart of Mercer where we took a right on Main Street to continue our journey. Approximately 87 right turns and one wrong turn later, we finally merged onto Highway 83 by Wilton, and I was mercifully back in familiar territory. The end goal was the Ramkota in Bismarck for state student council. I was dropping Catelyn off after a weekend full of hockey in Crosby and Bottineau.