Several months ago, my vehicle started making a funny noise when I was driving down the road. Then, a couple weeks after that, I started to hear another new noise, neither of which sounded like they were indicators of anything good.

On Friday nights in the fall, I typically don’t have a lot of free time. After all, Fridays in the American heartland mean football—no matter what the Big 10 says—and that means, when the lights go on and the ball is teed up, this ink slinger and my entire team are on sidelines across the area, ready to get the shots, document the plays, and pick up a comment or two from the coach at the end.

A few years back, a lucky tip came my way about an impending immigration raid in O’Neill. I don’t recall a lot of details about what was expected to happen, but the tip was “you’d better be there tomorrow morning.” As I drove up Highway 281 toward the north-central Nebraska town, I settled in behind what seemed like an endless line of SUVs with blackened windows also driving northward.

Every Wednesday morning, after I manage to wipe the sleep from my eyes, I get up, get ready, and head north—to Albion—to fetch that week’s edition of the newspaper. After a year of making the trip, I practically have every hill and every dale along the route memorized.

The State of Nebraska has more than 200 boards and commissions staffed by professionals and regular citizens. They deal with a broad range of subjects, from the recently created Alzheimer’s Disease and Other Dementia Advisory Council and State Child Death Review Team, to more recognizable boards, such as the Board of Parole and Board of Trustees for State Colleges.

Each week, usually on Thursday or Friday, but often Saturday or Monday thanks to the current timeliness of the United States Postal Service, I get a slug of mail. From around the area, state, and country, newspapers of all types, sizes, and shapes flow into my mailbox.

Back in the day, the Omaha World-Herald provided me with a company car and the instructions: “drive across the state and find some stories.” It was obviously a more formal command than that, something like “if you like your job, you’ll write something interesting.” It was an incredible adventure in various vintages of Ford Taurus. On the road, you realize that there are fascinating stories— sometimes tragic and sad, sometimes heart-warming and uplifting—in every corner of the state.

State lawmakers have long since finished their long, seventeen- day special session in Lincoln and headed back home. The summer session unfolded as a lot of people, including me, expected: A lot of ideas for reducing property taxes were discussed, but only a small, incremental change, one that will result in a three-percent drop in property taxes for some taxpayers, was passed.

In my closet, I have a t-shirt that I rarely wear but that is embossed with a saying that I think dictates my life. “I talk to myself, because sometimes I need expert advice.” Personally, I think it is funny in a tongue-in-cheek kind of way to begin with, but the real reason that I find the saying to be comical is that, from time to time, when you live alone, that is the only advice that you are ever going to receive.