As far as writing is concerned, I’m back in the saddle again

Author’s Archives, circa 1979. But we still cute!

Hey, there. I’m Brooke Ramey Nelson, a native Texan, former journalist, politico, PR person and high school teacher, who joined Medium in December 2020 to get back to what I’ve always loved to do — wrassling words.

I thought about starting this essay with the traditional greeting of my forebears: “Howdy!”. But I decided, for the better part of valor or something, that I didn’t have to be quite so obvious about my origins. Isn’t the pic above enough?

My lovely partner, Moker, and I have been married going on 42 years and have been together for 45. Obviously, we…


Speaker ain’t so smart if she wants to share my bandwidth next door

Photo by Mark Farias on Unsplash.

Dear Alexa:
I know you like to share. Lately, I’ve enjoyed listening to The Beatles and your latest compilation from The Chicks; and while it’s true I don’t use you too much as a timer, you’re pretty smart when it comes to knowing stuff that I either never learned or have conveniently forgotten.

Time for your review, Alexa; please try to be less helpful.

I do have a few issues with your performance, though. Your incessant notifications — whenever a package from my bestie, Jeff Bezos, arrives — drive me loca. And no, I don’t want to rate much of what I receive from Jeff. Also, it’s a good thing that…


A hot doctor can cure most anything

Photo by Hush Naidoo on Unsplash.

I’m currently crushing on my doctor. Big-time.

Like, major! Like, OMG, He’s. So. Hot! Like, He’s sooooooo Extra — Like, if Extra was a good thing! The BEST thing!!

Follow me back a couple of years. Major health scare — it’s hell getting old, ain’t it? — necessitating a brief hospital stay and new meds.

I needed a specialist — and I turned to a young woman of substantial pedigree. Duke School of Medicine substantial. Big, big deal. After my first visit, I knew I was in the best of hands.

Dr. C. set up a “care plan”, and set…


Cicada invasion proves that not everything is Fake News

Photo by Deb Dowd on Unsplash.

They’ve been called ugly, liars, fake, and probably Fake Ugly Liars. But Tuesday night, as members of the White House Press Corps readied themselves to jet off to Europe to cover President Biden’s first trip overseas, they had to admit that the really crazy had become reality.

No, it wasn’t a swarm of locusts, but a cacophony of cicadas that invaded the press charter plane, causing an almost seven-hour delay. The bug-eyed brood took over the Delta Air Lines charter, according to sources, necessitating a change of plans.

The airline said it wasn’t calling in the cavalry to fight the…


When it came to tech, I was always plugged in

Photo by John Schnobrich on Unsplash.

I’m sitting on my screened-in porch —a refuge, of sorts, from the boxes we still haven’t unpacked after a September move—tapping out this story on my phone.

Yes, it’s an iPhone 8, already obsolete even though I bought it a little more than a year ago. This digital device could well serve as a metaphor for me, myself, and I. Retired, in my 60s, covering my gray with what the hairdresser called “highlights” to balance the “lowlights” she had determined now make me “too dark for summer.”

And so it goes. But while I’m a lot like my Mama in…


Let’s just say he wasn’t looking so fly that day

Not so Fly Guy. CSPAN screenshot/Tweet by Devin Duke.

He’s so fat he has to iron his pants on the driveway.

George Washington allegedly couldn’t tell a lie; the former guy (he doesn’t deserve the honor of capital letters) is adept at spewing spurious claims; he also has a pretty puerile pants problem.

For years, we’ve wondered why this so-called gazillionaire wears such ill-fitting suits. He’s claimed to purchase designer selections to wear to the office; I’m sorry, but he more often than not looks more like a model for the latest in circus clown-wear.

Why do the legs of his trousers bloom so outrageously as they approach his knees, then plummet so precipitously to the floor? Seriously, he very well…


Texas proves again that it’s never a good idea to count the Lone Star State out

Photo by Adam Thomas on Unsplash.

I’m here to holler at the folks down in Austin, who proved once again last weekend that you can lead a mule to water, and sometimes you can even make him drink.

For those of you not schooled in Texas Talk, “holler” is a way to delightfully acknowledge that someone’s done good. No, it’s not the Tennessee nor Kentucky “hollers” — known in geographical circles as valleys — where Dolly Parton and Loretta Lynn grew up; nor is it pop singer Gwen Stefani’s Valley Girl-ish “Hollaback”, which is something to do with Mean Girl Southern Cali cheerleader sass.

Gotta say…

Hollywood Humor

And not just for ice cream

Publicity shot from “Cool Hand Luke” — c/o Warner Brothers and IMBD.

Yeah, my Mama loved the salad dressing guy.

She was enamored of three distinct entities in her long and storied life: her family, a sweet Whitman’s Sampler, and Paul Newman.

Yeah, a lot of you millennial types probably don’t know this, but Newman was an award-winning actor waaaaaayyyy before he gained later fame for his salad dressing finesse.

OK, Boomer.

We all know the eyes have it.

My Mama saw most of Newman’s movies. “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof”; “The Hustler”; “Cool Hand Luke”. Whenever his gorgeous mug was scheduled to appear — not so much in the theater, but more often in television re-runs — Mom was there, on the family room sofa…

Brooke Ramey Nelson

A Native Texan and Mizzou Journalism grad, Nelson has worked in newspapers, politics, PR and as a high school publications adviser and AP English teacher.

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