Some states in the northeast have been invaded by cicadas this month.
I have had the good fortune to live in two cities with rich histories. New Orleans and Columbus have many fascinating tales to tell. Both love the stories of their pasts and keep them alive with written and oral retellings.
I love stories about magic. Geese lay golden eggs, straw is spun into gold, and genies grant wishes with only a rub or three on a brass lamp. Of course, we know that life is not a fairy tale.
Most of the time, Mississippi seems like an island, surrounded by the rest of the states. In many ways, that is a good thing. This state, especially the Golden Triangle area, has less crime than many other places and possesses a wealth of creative talent and natural beauty.
Life is filled with second chances. Criminals reform. Rock stars make comebacks. Sinners repent. And, after love is lost, broken hearts mend, usually to love again.
I live a life that jetsetters would envy. My jaunts up and down Highway 45 North and through downtown Columbus could be the inspiration for a romance novelist. Those occasional journeys to Starkville or West Point probably set the "Beautiful People's" hearts aflutter.
It is once again that wonderful season of the year. Not to be confused with cold and flu season, or football season, or even hunting season. This is the time when we welcome our visitors from alternate realities, the ones we call "pilgrims."
I spent some time recently with Aimee and Kenneth Shaw of Shaw Pit Bull Rescue. They are animal lovers with a passion for Pit Bulls. These two, along with a group of volunteers called the "Pit Crew," devote much of their time and most of their income to rescuing this much maligned breed.
My little world has been filled with glitches lately. This may be because the planet Mercury has been retrograde for several weeks. Mercury rules travel and communication, and can wreak havoc with our driving, speaking, writing and a myriad of like things.
We hear a lot of people say, "I don't pay attention to politics." And, to that, I answer, "Then you get what you deserve."
I am not a political reporter. I am not even a real reporter. I am just an opinion columnist who is lucky enough to have a forum for my rants and observations.
The Ides of March are somehow more mysterious and more ominous than the middle of any other month.
We are once again in the season of Lent -- a somber six weeks, which is observed by many Christians, between Ash Wednesday and Holy Thursday. According to the Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke, this time commemorates the 40 days that Jesus spent in the desert. There he fasted, had a run-in with the devil, and emerged a changed man. Or, you might say, a carpenter went into the desert and the son of God came out.
Do you get the feeling that the Earth is spinning a bit off her axis these days? Strange things are happening, and I'm not talking only about inside of our City Council chambers. It seems that the entire world is crazily out of kilter.
The South, and especially our little part of the South, is so lush with history that we wear it like a cloak. It is an aura, a soft cloud, most of the time invisible, that envelopes us like a shroud. We cannot remove it any more than we can strip away our own skin.
I remember my very first book. "Katie the Kitten" was the story of "a small tiger cat, asleep in the hall, in a ball, in a hat." I could go on, but will spare you.
In the history of this great country there are battles of such epic importance that they are remembered for generations. Even after all the combatants have long since gone on to their reward, some names still resonate with Americans.
The English language is alive and evolving. The word "friend" has been considered a noun for a very long time. These days it is also a verb, as in "to friend" someone, such as on Facebook.
Sometimes it seems that we are surrounded by people who were raised by animals. The "bull headed," the "greedy pigs," the "sly foxes" are all around us. "Personification" and "anthropomorphism" -- we employ these concepts every day. They are shortcut explanations -- easy to understand, but usually not literal.
When I was a child we were all terrified of the Russians, specifically, of the bombs from that country, which we believed were aimed directly at my classroom in St. James Major grammar school. We were taught to crouch under our small, wooden desks and bury our heads ostrich-like under our arms.
I'm beginning to feel a bit like some sort of Superman. We all should. In spite of dire omens and doomsday prophecies, anyone reading this column has continued to wake up every morning to face another day.
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