Whoever said making up was hard to do? It’s a cinch, especially with all of the makeup brushes available now.
Mississippi is in the national news, again. Sometimes it seems that we only get press for embarrassing things, like being one of the fattest states, or the least literate.
Last week Marion asked: “What is the oldest surviving house in Columbus?”
I love the concept of saving daylight. It makes me think of that old Jim Croce song, “Time In A Bottle.” Both are lovely ideas, an odd mixing of magic and miracle.
Buttercups are popping up everywhere on the Southside. Okay, buttercups are not exclusive to my neck of the woods and are, in fact, beginning to bloom all over the South, from my mama’s little country roadside in my hometown of Richton to my old stomping grounds all over Jackson.
She is, quite simply, the personification of class. She doesn’t need to shout to be heard. When she speaks, people intuitively listen.
“I once was lost But now I’m found.” “Amazing Grace,” by John Newton I can get lost anywhere. I have no sense of direction.
We had an owl emergency in our neighborhood last weekend. My neighbor, “Farmer” Greg, found an injured bird on his property in Artesia.
This week the world seemed a bit quieter. Columbus is saying goodbye to a favorite, truly beloved, adopted son. His name is Scotty Daniels. Most of us knew him as Scotty D.
This time of year can be hard on gardeners.
Recently, Pearl Holt died. I did not know her well, only in passing.
Did you know the history of “lipstick” began with Cleopatra VII, ancient Egypt’s last pharaoh, who reigned between 51 and 30 B.C. and is perhaps most famous for her romances with Roman hotties Julius Caesar and Mark Antony?
I recently spoke to the Rotary Club in Columbus about steamboats on the Tombigbee River. That presentation resulted in my being questioned about the origin of the name Tombigbee. “Where did that name come from and what does it mean?”
I am packing up my Mardi Gras décor, storing ornaments and masks and beads in a well-marked box until next year. It is with great reluctance that I put these things out of sight. Chris and I never get tired of the fleur de lis, or that weird color combination of purple, green and gold.
Sometimes you can’t go to the river to fish. It’s too high or too muddy or too cold; it’s too late or too something. That’s when Sam and I started fishing in the prairie pond. I had to learn a different kind of fishing because there’s no crappie in the prairie pond.
Think Audrey Hepburn in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” as the minx becomes the young lover. Think Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy, especially the pre-Onassis period. Think Jane Wyman descending the stairs of Falcon Crest as the grand dame of 1980s television or your own mother preparing for a country club luncheon with the girls.
When we think of the American witch hunts of the 1950s, we are right to remember Joe McCarthy and the un-American pursuit of citizens who didn’t have the right political ideas. There were other sides to the persecutions, however, less famous but still historically significant.
February is a romantic month, or so they tell us.
Cleaning out some boxes I ran across a yearbook Mississippi College had compiled for incoming freshman. Each student submitted a photograph and a bio.