Humans always seem to be "hunting" for something. I don't mean just the literal hunt for game. Southerners may "hunt" for our lost keys, or a great parking spot or a new job.
My guess is that you have already heard birds singing sometime today. I am not a birdwatcher, but you don't have to be one to notice that birds fit in all around us, and there are few environments, urban or rural, that are not enlivened by birdsong.
The last few weeks have been a sort of crash course in local politics for me. I have always considered myself apolitical. In New Orleans I thought I was middle-of-the-road when it came to politics. But, here in Columbus, I seem to be the poster girl for liberals.
Everybody knew who Evel Knievel was in his heyday. He made a living doing dangerous things, and had a knack for making them into spectacles that the whole world paid attention to.
After confessing to capturing some 50-odd raccoons and possums, a nice lady approached me about helping her rid her place of nuisance critters. She kindly offered to pay. While extremely flattered, I had to decline her request, as this gets you into a whole new ballgame, when you start charging to trap critters.
We have had the occasional flare-up of mass racial violence in the past few decades. We have had nothing like the summer of 1919, when there were riots and lynchings in many large American cities, and countless episodes of violence in smaller ones.
"I have a thousand stories!" said David Shelton, when I asked him what he remembered about old Columbus. "I used to work for Sid Gardner and Kelly Myers for $4 a day. I wanted to be in the drug store business because of Mr. Sid. I'd sit on a stool at his drug store and just listen. So many people came in that I heard and learned a lot.
You already know that beauty exists across the species, although I confess I have never found anything attractive about a snake or a spider. But did you know that the desire to be beautiful also spans a number of God's creatures as well?
My sister called this week, a rare occurrence. She had received a package containing Mother's ashes. "They're in a plastic box," Victoria told me, "I remember seeing something like it at Pier 1, maybe 10 or so years ago." What a crude container for such a complicated woman. Mother would have hated it. Then she added, "The box has a sort of rattle."
About six years ago there were lots of kayaking outfitters within a few hours' drive, but nowadays it looks like most of those watering holes have dried up.
Actors are taught to understand their character's motivation. In mystery movies, the murderer must have motive. Usually that is greed, or jealousy, or maybe even passion. But without a very compelling reason, the crime is somehow hollow, and just not believable.
Few people recognize the name of Dr. William Spillman of Columbus. Even the marker is missing from his grave in Friendship Cemetery. His 1836 house still stands, but bears no historic marker or plaque. Spillman is a man lost in history.
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.