I dragged out the Christmas lights this weekend and began unraveling the many tangled cords of festive little bulbs of colored joy. It took some time as I sat thinking near boxes of last year's decorations, nutcrackers from my childhood, Christopher Radko snow globes bundled up cozily in bubble wrap, and ornaments galore.
I am a strict and fervent teetotaler, so I might be the wrong person to review "Punch: The Delights (and Dangers) of the Flowing Bowl" (Perigee) by David Wondrich.
You are looking at it right now, and if it is doing its job, you don't even notice it. It might represent a creation that has taken centuries to come to its current state of perfection, or it might be something that a dedicated specialist worked on for years and brought out a decade ago. It represents artistry directed within a circumscribed realm.
Last week, a man in Black Earth, Wisconsin, was arrested for shooting his television set. Apparently he was unhappy with the outcome of the latest episode of "Dancing With The Stars." It seems that he had an issue with Bristol Palin's performance. That moment of "appliance-cide" led to a 14-hour standoff.
On Saturdays in the fall, many of us enjoy working in our gardens, in addition to cheering on our favorite team. As the temperatures continue to drop and the rains become more frequent, fall gardening gets exciting.
Thanksgiving. It is that special time of year when, since the early days of this nation, people have given thanks for the harvests that would feed them through the non-productive winter months. Of course, it was not official until Sara Hale, editor of "Godey's Ladies Book," persuaded President Abraham Lincoln to declare and designate a national Thanksgiving Day.
A current conversation beginning in carpool lines and spilling over into fifth-grade homework time is less about long division and more about hair color. Yes, it's true, young ladies are living in the shadows of highlighted older sisters, moms and grandmothers, so naturally the topic comes up.
Ball games have been a part of Native American culture since prehistoric times. Early French missionaries among the Choctaw found them playing a form of stickball in 1729. Stickball in various forms was popular among almost all Indians in eastern North America. It was from stickball that the modern game of lacrosse evolved.
Lenora, my Prairie neighbor, asked if I could take care of their animals while she and her family ventured north in search of respite. I quickly agreed, only to find out this meant feeding horses, cats, a dog, rabbits and chickens.
Prince William of England has finally proposed to his longtime love, Kate Middleton. This is big news all over the world.
Most of us think we know the rules. At a very young age we learned to always say "please" and "thank you," wash our hands and share our toys. Sometimes the rules can be confusing. Our mothers taught us to be polite, but never speak to strangers.
Do you remember the fable about the young man who had heard all his life about a magnificent house with golden windows? Finally he set out on a search to find it.
Michele is an amazing mother. Her techniques are novel, and I love to eavesdrop on her parenting conversations. As the primary caregiver to her teenaged girls I know it hasn't been easy, not at all. It was after the girls were born that she went to college, got a degree and a good job to support them.
This Thursday marks Veterans Day. I have been blessed to have grown up as a child surrounded by relatives who were veterans of not only World War II, but also World War I and the Spanish-American War.
Lavish draperies, Louis XIV French settees and marble floors do nothing more than set the stage in my salon or any other. It is achieving that gorgeous blonde bob or ravishing head of red hair that is paramount.
Almost every small town in America has a special person who rides a bike, walks the streets, everybody knows and loves, and has at least one good story about. My old hometown, Rolling Fork, claims Calvin Dickerson as that person.
Columbus has been quite a popular destination recently. We enjoyed tours, lectures, concerts and countless choices of entertainment. Some weekends Chris and I had to select carefully because we just could not do it all. Truthfully, I would like a few days off just to recuperate.
A friend whose mother was dying shared with me perhaps the most poignant words I have ever heard. When asked if she would like fresh roses by the window of her hospital room, my friend's 90-year-old mother, animated from within as if someone had lit a candle in her heart, said, "No, dear, I have already been given enough roses."
First off, let's get something straight: I celebrate Hallowe'en, but not because I am "in league with the devil." Actually, those of us who believe in Christ are in the unique position to laugh at death, not to fear its symbols. For us, it has already been defeated.