The family's been touting the benefits of upgrading my computer and Internet. "It's so easy," they said.
My college roommate called; we discussed our lives and I thought how far life is from "Ozzie and Harriet." Not that it's bad, just different.
Reading news accounts last week brought to mind the many landmarks that Columbus has lost.
It is said that, when we die, our life flashes before our eyes. We experience a sort of review, revealing our good deeds and a few things that might evoke regret. That may be true. But, in some ways, my life is already a constant re-run of events.
There is a lot of hoopla going on right now about the 150th anniversary of the start of the War Between the States. I thought it might be a good time to write about a little book Elayne Goodman leant me.
Feathers in the hair? I was born and raised alongside roosters and hens, chasing them across the barnyard on my daddy's farm in rural Mississippi, and to tell the truth, never once thought of chicken feathers as a hair accessory.
Go through any city and you will find graffiti written on any available surface. The stuff we see nowadays is usually spray-painted, and while some of it is just stupid and offensive, some has real artistry and style. Graffiti, of course, was not invented along with the spray can. It could famously be found on the walls of Pompeii, and also in Rome and in Egypt, and just about everywhere else in the ancient world.
T. S. Eliot must have been a bit dyslexic. He added an extra "L" in the word cruelest and omitted an "L" and a "T" in his last name. (My opinion, only). Still, he was an amazing poet.
Jobie Martin lost his life in a tragic automobile accident on Interstate 220 in Jackson a few weeks ago. He was 91. He was a broadcasting legend over where I grew up. I was one of his biggest fans.
I have always loved pink. Secretly, of course, because little boys just did not express themselves with a feminine color like pink, but somewhere between eighth grade and high school yearbook camp, the '80s happened.
Nov. 2, 1909, was to be a red letter day for Columbus. President William H. Taft was coming to town. He was to be accompanied by his Secretary of War, Hon. J. M. Dickinson, a Columbus native. (A few years later, Crawford native T. W. Gregory served as Woodrow Wilson's Attorney General.)
The dazzling "Moby Dick" is not simply about whaling. Melville's grand and exhilarating volume is about good and evil, nature, the futility and magnificence of human endeavor, and literature itself, to list just a few subjects.
History is rich with stories of pilgrims. Sometimes they are fleeing religious persecution. They may be traveling toward Mecca, the shrine of a special saint, or even a battlefield.
Snow was piled to the tops of doors, even to the eaves of some houses. Residents had had to cut corridors through the drifts to get out to the street.
Spring is well underway, and the bright yellow rays of the daffodils' smiles have popped up everywhere with the magnificent rainbow of azalea blossoms competing for the attention.
One of the mistakes in movies I always find funny is the opening scene where the director wants to set a locale in the mind of the viewer, so he might place the words "Washington, D.C." at the bottom of the screen, while at the same time showing the capitol or the Washington Monument, making such a caption unnecessary.
This week, my homepage had the nerve to suggest quick fixes for my décor dilemmas.
I remember my mama's weekly visits to the beauty salon downtown.
Civil War reenactment bands are noted for their playing of period music. Bands recreating Southern units are always thought of as playing Dixie and The Bonnie Blue Flag but the popular music of the South was much more varied.
"Hi, my name is Sarah," said the lovely young women as she pulled up a chair beside me. We chatted, and I learned that Sarah was collecting information for obituaries, a topic dear to my heart. I confessed my love for obituaries. I have been known to read out-of-town, even out-of-state, obituaries just for the pleasure of it.