Each person ate their own food at the beach. If you see nothing wrong with the above sentence —besides the fact that it would be nice if some sharing occurred — then you probably won’t care much about the contents of this column.

March 25 dealt the literary world a mighty blow. On that day, both Larry McMurtry and Beverly Cleary passed away. He wrote for adults, and she wrote for children.

I have become a statistic. Well, kind of, sort of a statistic. Maybe more like one of the masses because I don’t think any specific statistics came into play.

One of my favorite foods only grows in the wild for a short period of each year and requires tremendous effort to find. Maybe that’s what makes morel mushrooms so good (although a little cracker and egg breading before you fry them helps).