Mr. Lee and his wife, Kelly, opened the shop, named after their son, Chandler, 12 years ago.

I wait at the intersection of Rio Road and U.S. 29 and watch.

It’s most likely a simple problem, easy enough for a backyard mechanic to fix, providing he has a modicum of intellect and some common tools. At least that’s how the Internet made it sound.

Rosie has a last name, but you won’t read it here.

A band on the street corner performing hymns, a shelter for the homeless, a meal for the hungry, a group of bow hunters prowling the woods for The Big Buck. Not all of those things may seem directly related to Charlottesville’s Salvation Army, but believe it or not, they are.

The poor are always among us, and their numbers grow with every layoff, furlough and budget cut.

I learned a lot about our community by watching lawyers pepper possible jurors with questions.

Mary Fisher Beverley is true to her word, even after death.

Blazing bursts of black and white have blinded me to the shades of journalistic gray through which I long have viewed the world’s armed conflicts. I can see clearly now, the haze is gone, all neutrality has disappeared.

On the whole, Mason Thomas would rather play the outfield, ride a four-wheeler or sweat through a fourth-grade math class.

Specialty Fasteners is a sprawling labyrinth of hardware with tools and equipment crammed into every cranny, corner and nook of the retail outlet off Rose Hill Drive.

Pernetha Gilbert is tough.

It’s high noon and nigh unto two dozen duffers hump clubs on the endangered McIntire Park Golf Course with non-manicured, stump-studded fairways and sand-trap greens.

The youngest of the two women I call “daughter” is graduating from Charlottesville High School and all I’ve got are these wonderful memories.

Holding 50 jobs in 50 states in 50 weeks is not the best way to build a resume, but it will give you a lifetime of experience with rejection.

An area grammarian recently cornered me in a hallway and accused me of being comatose, an accusation she based on my horrendous abuse of the comma.

After years of being lumped in with that aging lot of social reformers and community organizers known as Baby Boomers, we who came of age in the 1970s are finally getting our proper dues.

A mother is always proud of her kids, especially when they’re good and smart and prove it by graduating from high school.

Most hospitals will check an infant at birth, but a variety of factors from drugs to disease can cause kids to lose their hearing.

The beagle blasts out the backdoor like hell’s own hound, howling in anger as a neighbor’s cat springs in a fuzzy blur out of the yard and over the fence.

Bargain hunters rejoice, for our little garage sale of a city is about to get a rummage infusion from University of Virginia students and the household goods they’d otherwise leave behind.

The front yard signs long ago faded and fell and “support our troops” is a slogan seldom sung.

It’s the kind of gift even Anna Jarvis could love.

Locked in a room with limited social and less physical contact with other people, the person is basically left to heal on his own.

For years, the tombstone outside Weldon Showalter’s Park Street home bid rest in peace to the Meadowcreek Parkway.

Forget lighting candles. If everyone gave $400 a year, what a bright community this would be.

For the needy, the thrifty, the charities and the ladies who volunteer within, The Green Olive Tree is magic.

They chatted on a fan site, met on the way to a West Coast concert, talked on the phone, visited and, after a cross-country move, came together.

The boisterous sea of liberty, Thomas Jefferson said, is never without a wave, and a group of residents plans to stir the waters even more.

The bunnies are here, the bunnies are there, the bunnies are all around.