Ever wonder why men adore long hair on women? I have pondered the notion for years and am stumped. Maybe it's because the majority of our mothers at some stage modeled longer hairstyles, or perhaps it dates back to that little girl in kindergarten who was a first crush.
On Wednesday afternoon, a tumultuous thunderstorm blew through. I was at the computer staring at the screen, doing my best to conjure up something to amuse you with before you have to leave for church later this morning.
As a little kid, Vacation Bible School was a highlight of summer. What could be cooler than making crafts, playing games; drinking grape Kool-Aid and eating sugar cookies with a hole in the middle held by a single finger?
Recently I was invited to attend a "Hardy Party," given by Lane Hardy Poirrot for her sister, Jane. It occurred to me, in the midst of so many members of that family, that they were pretty close to being a unique local phenomenon. I would venture to guess that at least half the people who went through high school in Columbus were in school with one or more Hardys. I asked some of them to share their family memories.
It seems that our needs are seldom satisfied. Our lives are filled with lack. Basic requirements go unfulfilled.
Quite often I think about independence, or the lack thereof. I imagine living without electricity and doubt if I really could. I would miss my electric coffee pot. I enjoy waking in the morning to Folgers brewing. I would miss that.
It was during my awkward freshman year in high school that I first fell in love with hair, my own. The television series "Growing Pains" was my favorite obsession, along with parachute pants, Swatch watches and fluorescent shoelaces.
A few years back, I subscribed to Netflix. Soon after Only Daughter and Third Favorite Child, who was living at home for a spell (too long), ordered one. She used it to stream Netflix's "watch instantly" movies from the Internet directly to her television.
These are tough days for the American patriot. The economy is in terrible shape, yet our government spends (seemingly) recklessly on projects of which we just do not approve. Still, taxes are raised on the battered, rapidly-disintegrating middle class, but reduced for the wealthiest among us.
Even using 45spf suntan lotion and wearing a big floppy hat, us gardeners have a hard time avoiding the effects of the sun. Then lo and behold, one day the family doctor said, "You're not getting enough vitamin D." Vitamin D comes from the sun.
It is said that everyone we meet was sent into our lives for a reason. Life on Earth is a series of lessons. We do not move on to the next existence until we learn them.
Most all of you "know" my mama, if only through the dozens of columns I have written about her over the years. She is sick right now, fighting a difficult health battle, and we appreciate any prayers you can send our way. It is, however, my daddy that I want to introduce to you today.
Memory is a strange thing. I wonder why I remember totally useless bits of trivia, but not where I put my keys (instead of the designated place for them) or what the price is for certain grocery items, information that could be useful.
One of the most interesting figures in Columbus history was William Cocke. He was born in Virginia in 1747 and died in Columbus in 1828. Cocke actually lived the founding and settlement of the U.S. He then became one of the founders of Columbus.
George Washington Carver has been pigeonholed by history. He plays two roles. He is first, the man who advocated peanut farming and invented all sorts of uses for the crop; we even go so far as to give him credit for inventing peanut butter, which he never did nor claimed to have done.
Have you ever heard the expression "tarantula eyes"? Well, I have, and images of longer-than-life lashes from old mascara commercials still reverberate in my memory.
My father has been gone 12 years, now. Still, that essay never fails to make me a bit weepy. Today we are all thinking about our fathers, and about that delicate relationship between a man and his child. Mothers are perceived to be the first-class parent. It is usually a more intimate bond, and somehow easier. Fathers must be disciplinarians. "Just wait 'til your father gets home!" is every mother's threat. Fathers dispense punishment. Mothers soothe the hurt. Who would want the father's role?
In the gothic thriller "The Mysteries of Udolpho" (1794), the mysteries consist of distinguishing the real from the supernatural, and one of the scary visions seen by the heroine Emily was a body in grave clothes, being eaten by worms. She really saw it, and the author reflects, "On such an object, it will be readily believed, that no person could endure to look twice." Is it a horrific supernatural vision, or is it a mere waxwork?
Sam has a passion for fishing. I was thinking about that while a local official was asking me questions about where and how Sam fishes. He oughta know that I can't tell him anything. It tickles me to hear Sam on the river and a fisherman idles up beside us.