Lately, because of my growing addiction to newspaper puzzles, I have taken to reading the funnies again. Some of them are frankly political, even though they are usually the ones that can make me laugh out loud.
October is my favorite month. It is in this month that Southerners expect to feel a coolness in the air, finally. It is the time when leaves turn to flames and jewels. It is the month of Halloween.
These days everything we buy comes with instructions and detailed warnings. Aerosol cans have labels that warn us to keep them away from open flames. Shampoos clearly state that the contents are for external use only.
The holidays are almost upon us, and I can't think of a more appropriate time to turn up the volume on your hair color by switching gears with one of the newest buzz-worthy trends of the year -- ombre.
Just down the road between Columbus and West Point, where the asphalt turns to gravel, there's an opening in the trees revealing a peek at the meandering Tibbee Creek.
Although I do not consider myself a real artist, I love to try to paint. And I love the company of artists, those people for whom the scales have dropped from their eyes, who see things with a fresh outlook and can recognize beauty or humor in strange places. What is more, I never fail to enjoy being in the homes of artists. No matter how grand or humble, they almost always sparkle with personality.
Allow me to cut straight to the point. A haircut is not just a trim that you approach with eyes closed, literally or figuratively. It's one defining aspect of your image.
"Vintage" is a word that keeps popping up in conversation lately. Vintage has always been in my vocabulary. I love antiques, and if you see me about town most likely it will be lusting after a French armoire or drooling near a pair of Louis XIV candelabra.
Last Sunday morning I called some friends to invite myself over for Sunday dinner. More often than not, every third Sunday or so their dinner table is covered with garden-fresh vegetables, fried pork chops, chicken or meatloaf and to-die-for desserts. I'm blessed to have friends that don't mind my barging in (I think?).
I spent my childhood in Memphis, Tenn. It was the 1950s, and Elvis was "King." In those days he was not just any king, he was Louis XIV, The Sun King, and Graceland was his Versailles.
I have just finished a month of Nutrisystem; and, while yes, I may have lost a little weight (never enough!), I found out a few things I feel urged to share, such as "buyer, beware." Here's why: The example of celebrity customers who lose about 100 pounds is not typical. The small print tells you so.
From time to time my home page, MSN, tries to give me advice. It seems to think that I need to know how to make great cupcakes, or decorate my home to look like a furniture store window, or wear the trendiest colors, hot off the runways of Paris and Milan.
I remember sitting on the toilet seat -- closed, of course -- of our small, blue-tiled bathroom paying close attention to my mama as she went through her beauty ritual. The hot rollers were plugged in and ready to go. Even as a little fellow, I was happiest when surrounded by the glamour of lipsticks, dusting powders and Aquanet. It beat chopping wood with my brothers.
Many years ago, while recovering from a brutal divorce, I traveled through the Yucatan with a companion. We rented a yellow Volkswagen and wandered without an itinerary or plan of any sort. It was September. Most tourists had returned to school, and work, and the promise of autumn. However, in Mexico temperatures were still in the high 90s. We had the peninsula almost to ourselves, and time meant nothing.
You may have read or seen the movie about Marley, "The World's Worst Dog." Marley, at least, was just a dog, and those whom he troubled might have had to suffer torn belongings and other messes. Marley was a piker at "worstness" though; he did not speak all the languages of Satan, for instance, and he could not change his shape into that of a seductive woman, and he could not render himself and his master invisible.
Reading "On the Origin of Species" is not like reading any other revolutionary scientific work. Even Richard Feynman said he couldn't get through all of Newton's "Principia," and there are few but specialists who get through Einstein's main papers. Part of the difference, of course, is that Darwin was dealing with biology, a science whose myriad subjects are as close to us as ourselves.
A few Saturdays ago, Sam and I found ourselves smack-dab in the middle of the "Greenies," facing the powerful South Panola Tigers.
It's been a long, hot summer here in north Mississippi, and your turf may be showing the stress of the season. You've watered on a regular basis and kept the grass alive, but you still have a few weeds that refuse to leave. With one more push, you can finally be rid of these pesky weeds and help that front yard to be beautiful.
I welcome fall. Each new season brings with it the obvious pause to reflect on last year or the year before, and perhaps the future as well. But do we ever really sit still to breathe in the cooler breezes at sunset or marvel at the many shades of joy that can be gathered from a pile of fallen leaves?
Nancy Hendrix is a delightful young woman who sandwiches conducting our senior aquatic exercises at the YMCA in two classes there, three classes at Mississippi University for Women and an after-school program in Caledonia.
2. Good times roll for Market Street music ENTERTAINMENT
5. W music students present An Evening of Classics ENTERTAINMENT