Opinion & Columns

The preponderance of ugly houses suggests most architects are either overworked or undersmart. In either case, it’s time I lent a hand.

Toss that bed, take down those posters, rent the room to gypsies if you must, but do not give your grown children a toehold back in.

I found my favorite authors and slid my fingers along the spines of books I yearned to read. And not just read, but buy, hold in my hands, and, when finished, tuck onto a shelf, mine to remember and admire for all time.

I don’t want to give up football—and I’m guessing the players don’t want to, either. But they need to be protected. That’s something that we, the fans, can get behind.

I find the first stage of a remodel much like surgery, in that once you agree, there is no time to second-guess.

Let us call Indiana’s prohibition against gay marriage what it is: a spiteful effort to deny one group a blessing another group enjoys.

Will the value the IMA’s curators provide—challenging our thinking with shows like Ai Weiwei’s, telling us what art we should be clamoring for—continue as the museum is democratized?

Inside the cavernous Lucas Oil Stadium, amid a sea of 40,000 chanting fans watching the venue’s first soccer match, two different contests were unfolding.

The fact is, our lifestyles have changed. We do not live at Downton Abbey, and there are no servants—thank heavens—to polish trays and tip silver teapots.

I like being a minister, but if I had known I was going to write books anyway, maybe I would have taught college to get the summers off.

Sure, my drained perfumes are taking up room, collecting dust. But one day I might need my own tether to who I am—and who I was. And there the bottles will sit, my former lives ready to be uncapped and released.

To clear the air, know that I did not vote for your husband. Either time. But I believe in your fight against childhood obesity—make that obesity in general—and think I have a new tool for your toolbox.

For those who dream of taking the plunge, a guide to buying your Indiana lake home. Plus, a primer on renting, for those just testing the waters—featuring Wawasee, Monroe, Michigan, Tippecanoe, Patoka, and more.

There’s an art to motorcycle negotiation. One must strike the perfect balance between indifference and slight interest.

Instead, Dad and I wailed together in the car to “I Want to Hold Your Hand” and harmonized on our old plaid couch to “Two of Us,” the first (and one of the last) songs I learned to play on the guitar.