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.
Let's face it -- we all have some sort of addiction. Most of us would never put our hobbies or (dare I say) obsessions in that category. However, such things as Facebook, online games, soap operas, sports, religious fanaticism, and almost anything that eats up precious time might be classified as an addiction, even if not against the law.
Many young people -- and old ones too -- enjoy collecting fossil shark's teeth. The Tombigee River Valley is full of chalk and sand outcroppings that contain many different kinds of fossils. In the Golden Triangle area, these deposits are mostly from the Cretaceous Period of geologic history and range from about 70 to 82 million years old. Throughout the area are found the teeth of sharks, giant fish, sea going reptiles and even an occasional dinosaur.
I looked like a life-size Barbie standing in the middle of Tonka Town amid groaning machines, dust whirling and noise sounding like jets crashing together.
My mama is dying, not "dying" for a new Jaguar or another slice of chocolate cake, mind you. Those things have been on her want list before, but not now. Heck, she even got the green Jaguar from my daddy and some chocolate cake on her 65th birthday.
Once upon a time we all learned penmanship. Grammar school children had big tablets with solid and dotted lines. We were taught to stretch our capital letters between the straight lines, and hit the dotted ones with the tops of small letters. It all looked like rows of boxes, some open and others closed.