Aspecial train carrying President Theodore Roosevelt to a Rough Riders reunion rolled across the Red River bridge on Apr. 5, 1905.

Let’s engage in some meaningless small talk. I’ll start by saying something totally cliché and you respond appropriately.

“Bells started ringin’ and chains rattled loud, I knew I’d moved in a haunted house.” — ‘Haunted House’ song lyrics, recorded by Jumping Gene Simmons 1964. ----- The old house was charming, even in stages of ruin.

This story was in no way written with the help of Artificial Intelligence (AI). If it had been, it probably would have been so much better.

My memory isn’t faulty; it just goes on vacation more often than I do.” — I would tell you who said that. But I forget.

“Was the late secretary of war removed in consequence of his attempt fraudulently to give to Gov. Houston the contract for the Indian rations?” an Ohio congressman asked on the floor of the U.S.

The items I had with me were a camera, where I snapped family photos and candid shots of the day as inmates met with their families and enjoyed hours with each other, which included pizza, games, handholding, eye contact, sitting at a table together, and continuous memory-making moments. One inmate stood with his wife for a candid embrace, asking their 20-something son to move aside for that shot, and I grabbed the young man’s arm.

Frank Buck, the celebrated adventurer who brought exotic wildlife “back alive,” took his last breath not in a faraway jungle but in a Houston hospital bed on Mar. 25, 1950.

Lawn mowers are such unnecessary things. Sure, they can make a front yard look spiffy — for a while.

Dear My Journal. I know at the beginning of the year I promised I would write to you more than I did last year, but as you can tell, I’ve been a bit lax. You know how it is. Life happens, and at the end of the day, you feel more like falling asleep than jotting down what you had for breakfast or how many times in a row you sneezed due to all that darn pollen in the air.