The events of late last week have given us all an opportunity to pause and take inventory on what’s important in our lives.

Whenever I look at maps of cities, I am always reminded of a diagram of the human circulatory system. Small streets starting in the surrounding areas feed into wider, more central arteries, providing all areas with the lifeblood of the city: our residents. The I-70 and 350 highway provides fast ways to our means of money and sustenance. They quickly connect families, friends, lovers and co-workers who live great distances apart.

I’m not sure what the rule is on what exactly, medically-speaking, we are supposed to discuss and keep to ourselves these days.

There are some things in local politics that seem to just be given or assumed. Right or wrong, it happens all the time.

I am still counting my daughter’s age in months. I know that is supremely annoying to some of you. And honestly, before I had a kid, it was annoying to me, too.

I am always baffled when local, elected officials brag about not reading the local newspapers and being up on current events.

What comes to mind when you hear the term “Livable Streets?”

Small towns and small counties house a bit of a medical quandary.

Having lived in Lee’s Summit since I was five (well except for college years and a couple after that) I have come to love this town. I guess that works out well, since one of my job responsibilities is to market Lee’s Summit to visitors and encourage residents to shop Lee’s Summit. However, even before my current job with the Lee’s Summit Chamber, you could see my Lee’s Summit pride from a mile away.

When I think of the word perseverance, the first person that pops into my mind would be my grandmother; my daughters identify her as “my Mom’s, Mom’s Mom.” I am blessed to still have her in my life. A beautiful almost 99 year young woman, who can still out play me in bingo any day of the week.

Actually, the commonly known remainder of that statement doesn’t necessarily apply in this case.

Rick Santorum’s unceremonious exit from the Republican presidential distance race shouldn’t come as a surprise to many.

It was years and years ago that I learned what the phrase “jumping the shark” meant. I had heard it tossed around by those attempting to mock something. I just wasn’t sure what, really.

I don’t use this term in the boozy kind of way. I feel the need to point that out first and foremost.

Welcome back to the Truman Heartland Community Foundation’s monthly guest column.

I have to say I feel slightly more comfortable working on my yard than, say, on my car or in other various household repairs.