With the presidential election holding our attention of late it has been easy to overlook how the 10th amendment to the United States Constitution is becoming supercharged.
Down by the Prairie ponds sits a tiny cabin. For the last few years it has been the receptacle of old lawn chairs, extra fishing poles, a boogie board, a torn fishing net, an assortment of tackle, a half-used bag of fish food and various and sundry items.
There are now three contentious matters on which federal law and the laws of at least some states are in conflict.
Thanksgiving has now passed and Christmas is fast approaching, which raises that perennial holiday beverage controversy: What is the favored Christmas libation, eggnog or milk punch?
The first thing you want to ask Sao Timratthana is how he went from being a cook at a Buddhist monastery in Tibet to owning a Thai restaurant on Wilkins-Wise Road in Columbus, Mississippi.
It was Cormac McCarthy cold, the wind rushing through deserted and dark buildings, whipping at loose trash that increasingly piled up on the rutted streets.
As I recall, I scored 960 on my SAT. This was good enough for second best in my class and many congratulations and backslaps from teachers and administrators. Based on that, I thought I'd done pretty well.
Within days of winning the election, President Obama announced that his victory gave him a mandate to raise taxes on the "rich."
Earthquakes may strike, dynasties may fall and locusts may devour the crops, but Oldsmobile and Pan Am are forever. Never mind.
Among the things for which Americans can be thankful on this weekend devoted to such is Washington's resolve to temper severity with mercy: It will seriously -- this time we really mean business; we are not going to be Greece, or worse, Illinois -- restrain spending but will not balance the budget on the backs of popcorn eaters.
Forgive me, Bobo, but I do not believe in Bigfoot. Nevertheless, it was a delight spending a Saturday afternoon with you -- the sasquatch hunter from Animal Planet's "Finding Bigfoot" -- in, of all places, a midtown Manhattan bar.
Happy Thanksgiving or -- as it will soon be called -- Thanksmas.
He had lost a son many years before, the boy barely more than a toddler when he died. Now another son was dead and grief sat on him like the shawl that draped his shoulders as he rattled around the big, cold house.
It is doubtful that Josie Shumake was chosen to speak at Tuesday's meeting of the Columbus Rotary Club in deference to Thanksgiving.
Like many people, I have a tendency to spend more time thinking about what's wrong than what's right, what's missing rather than what is there, what I don't have instead of what I do.
In a Dispatch online poll a few days ago, we asked readers where they would likely do their Black Friday shopping. Although we make no claim of scientific accuracy, the poll results do at least provide some insight into the attitudes of our community.
It was maybe 20 years ago when I got a call from a woman I did not know. She had purchased the house of my recently deceased grandmother, Lyda Will Wyatt Emmerich.
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