Along with my Mothers' Day gift, my daughter Nora Frances gave me a card that spelled out "I Love You" in sign language, the kind where the hand shapes the signs for letters. I knew immediately that it was not an idle choice, but one that had special meaning among our family stories.
My friend, Barbara Yarborough, lent me a May issue of The Saturday Evening Post, because she thought it had an advertisement for a device that just might keep the deer of my neighborhood from eating my flowers.
Remember the old newspaper "society columns?" Well, I confess I feel as if that is what I have been writing.
The thing is I've got eight grandchildren, and four of them have already or are going to get married within a little over a year. That is a lot of festivity for someone my age. Actually, it is downright stressful, but it proves not all stress is bad.
Happy Easter! Today is the highest holy day in the Christian calendar, and we rejoice on many levels. I have been reflecting on what Easter meant to me at various stages of my life. It is probably much like yours.
You may have heard this story. It is about a slave who was abducted from his natural country by slave traders when he was about 16 years old.
They say you know you are growing old when you find yourself saying that young people are not having fun the way you and your contemporaries did when you were young.
When handsome young bachelor Salem Gibson readily agreed to be interviewed for my Valentine column, I thought I was going to get some real advice on attractiveness between the sexes, something like, "A girl chases a boy like the cheese chases the mouse."
Somewhere along the way I seem to have developed a fondness for Professor Henry Higgins of "My Fair Lady" fame.
By this time Christmas is long gone. Even Epiphany.
It is that time again, and I just wanted you to know that I have been good.
Tom Brokaw called them "The Greatest Generation," and I am inclined to agree with him.
While you are nibbling away at the children's Hallowe'en candy, you might want to give a thought to the origin of the holiday, which in many cultures extends to Nov. 1 and 2 as well.
We seem to be undergoing a renaissance lately, a rebirth of the Renaissance period of history.
Do you remember George Plimpton?
One morning recently, as I was lingering over my breakfast coffee in front of the TV, I saw a program (maybe "The Today Show") that listed the top movies by attendance for a certain period.
We tend to put people in boxes these days, usually appending the description "disorder" to our description itself of them.
There is a phenomenon in physics called entanglement.
I have said that I was not going to get involved in the issue of the Mississippi flag, but like lemmings rushing to the sea where they drown themselves, I find myself blurting out a few thoughts, although I have no wish to offend anybody.
Do you remember the old "society columns" in which "Little Miss Precious Plutocrat motored to Birmingham yesterday with her mother, Mrs. Pomposity Plutocrat, for a day of shopping and luncheon with her aunt and cousin, Mrs. Genuine Gotrocks and little Miss Hotcha Gotrocks."
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