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.
Beauty is ageless.
If green is truly the new black, and since everyone from my 71-year-old mama to my 17-year-old niece begins ands ends every conversation talking about saving money, then 2010 could very well be the year for smart shopping. And that’s nothing to blush about.
With hundreds, if not thousands, of hairstylists chiseling, combing and coiffing the locks of ladies from the small town barber shops and beauty parlors to the swankiest of “citified” salons and image studios, I ask myself the same question that lots of first-time clients have asked me. Underwhelmed or downright displeased with their last cut, they sit in a new stylist’s chair and ask: “Why can’t I get a good haircut?”
From Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice” to Robert Altman’s “Gosford Park,” the English country house plays a role in the imagination as it has in English society and history. It is a role that has changed greatly over the centuries, as has the role of the servants who ran the places.
We are united by jillions of connections, visible and invisible. You can call it a network, or the World Wide Web, or links. But, no matter, we are tangled in a labyrinth that no one really understands.
In my family, life was a picnic. Everything we did as a family somehow revolved around eating. As a young girl my dad would take me to hunting camp with him and the extended family. Everyone was loaded in jeeps and pickups; each hunter supplied with a brown paper bag filled with breakfast biscuits (the homemade kind) sausage, ham, cheese, assorted snacks and a thermos of hot coffee.