Musings from Michele Miller, creator and editor of the community blog, ‘What’s What New Port Richey.’
It’s a remarkable transformation of the 1920’s historic boutique hotel that’s not quite finished yet but “getting there” – a sign of the times with pandemic and war-time supply chain issues that have been plaguing the construction industry. […]
A nod to those who step in to care when they don’t have to. People who have no familial genes in the game but got it right when others didn’t – or couldn’t. People who become a better part of your upbringing in that whole, “takes a village” kind of way. […]
It’s been rough going since the pandemic reared its ugly head two years ago. A hindsight silver linings view can be cause for celebration […]
It’s that wonderful time of year again when we’re thrown all out of sorts because of a century-old wartime effort meant to save fuel. But there’s more to the story…. […]
After a two year slog, the local art scene is experiencing a cautious renaissance of sorts in downtown New Port Richey and beyond. […]
Somewhere between Knoxville, Tennessee, and New Port Richey, Florida the old man and I are going down the road feeling a whole lot of things while listening to an old bootleg copy of a Grateful Dead concert we attended in 1979 when we were young and new and kind of carefree. […]
“You picked a good time to get out of Florida,” is an oft-repeated sentiment when I call to check in on the housesitter, friends and family members who are hunkering down in their homes again, or while conducting telephone interviews for an upcoming feature story I’m working on. […]
You can go home again. You might even find that things have changed in ways that make you yearn – or at least be happy to stop in again […]
Some stories were told so frequently that after awhile you felt like the memories were yours as they spilled out over coffee and pilsners of beer, threaded with laughter, tears, some angry thoughts, and “those were the days” laments. […]
Like pioneers contemplating what to dump from their weighed-down covered wagons at a treacherous crossroad, we were standing in the front yard of our New England home, making some hard, last-minute decisions about what we could live without. […]
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