There was something rare and ineffably sweet about the gathering at the Trotter Center Saturday evening a week ago. "Goose's Grand Gala" it was called, a party for Edwina Williams, known by many as simply, "Mother Goose."
"A Mr. Ronald Crowe is here to see you." It was a receptionist in the front office, Monday morning.
There are benefits to living near a firehouse. I hope the firemen there feel the same way. We're a block away and always good for a laugh.
When I was 6 years old, I had a paper route. I am sure of this because one of my customers gave my mother a handwritten note I put in her newspaper.
A woman carrying a bag of cat food stopped and put a dollar in the red kettle.
"Thanks," I said. "I hope you and your cat have a merry Christmas."
In the summer 1979, after listening to high school classmates Nate Pack and Joe Shelton -- aka Big Joe Shelton -- rhapsodize about it for years, I drove to north Alabama for a bluegrass festival at a place called Horse Pens 40.
Friday evening I felt like an Olan Mills photographer. I made snapshot portraits of more than 100 people with my digital camera.
A friend walked up to me after Rotary and stuck his hand out: "I know what you've been up to this past week." We both laughed.
Friday morning around 11 o'clock Dick Leike stood on the widow's walk of Riverview and gazed out over the treetops toward the river and the black prairie beyond. The sun had cleared the oak trees in the front yard of the house, and the stained glass of the cupola behind Leike glowed like neon. The cupola is as large as a two-car garage and is, like every other feature of this Greek revival treasure, majestic.
"I'm gonna miss that tree," said Jimmy Cole. He was nodding toward a white oak that might have been a seedling when Lincoln took the dais at Gettysburg.
A couple weeks ago, Bob Nolan and I were standing around in my backyard talking. Actually, I was doing the talking; Bob was repairing a crack in a rowboat made of polyethylene plastic with a heat gun. I was trying to stay out of his way.
Wonder what Joe would have said about "Bobby" winning the Nobel.
Monday through Friday from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. Linda Swift sits in front of a large picture window with sagging Venetian blinds and sews.
Thursday evening while paddling on the river, I looked up at the moon and thought of Ansel Adams. Adams, you may know, was a photographer of the American West -- arguably the photographer of the American West -- known for his black-and-white prints that rivaled the grandeur of the landscapes they depicted.
Out of the blue comes an email from Larry Studdard. If you qualify for a senior discount at the picture show, went to high school in the area and paid attention to the sports pages of that time, you need no introduction.
Wednesday afternoon, as my grandson and I waited on milkshakes at Jack's, a man walked up and started telling us about his '61 Corvette.
Beth and I went kayaking Wednesday afternoon. We launched at DeWayne Hayes Park out near Columbus Air Force Base. It's lovely out there.
OK, let's get one thing straight before we go any further: Bobby Harper has no more goats for sale. Fact is, he never had any to begin with. Throughout most of August, though, he's had a pleasant, though not always easy, time trying to convince readers of the Mississippi Market Bulletin of that.
Since company was coming at 7:30, bright and early, we needed to get up and get moving. There was the old cypress table Melvin Brewer made for us to move to the garage, the extractor to set up and the five-gallon pails to rinse out.
NESHOBA COUNTY FAIR, THURSDAY -- Phil Bryant is on stage talking about Tuesday at the fair with his new friend, "Don Trump," the candidate's son.
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