I don't have a crystal ball, but I know where I may very well die one day: In the intersection of College Street and Fifth Street South.
In the heat you can smell the honey and beeswax 10 feet from the hive. As our grandparents did in summers past, the bees escape the swelter by clustering outside on what is equivalent to their front porch. There and on the sides of the hive boxes they will remain making their low hum throughout the night. If the morning is cool, they will have retreated back inside by the time I return with my coffee.
As her friends and cousins are well into their summer break, it's a sad day, as Kyla declares, "June will be summer!" (I don't have the heart to remind her it's already June; she's one of only about 674 kids still in school full time around here.)
In the past several weeks, I have driven a police car with sirens blaring, was shot twice (with toy cap bullets), conquered a lifelong fear and shot a fully automatic assault rifle (with real bullets).
There's something different about men now. I've been seeing them in grocery stores. In the Kroger parking lot a man pulled in beside me. He appeared to be alone, then I saw a car seat with a child. As I watched, he entered the grocery store, with child in tow.
The other day I got to wondering if there are any shade tree mechanics still around. You know, a fellow in an oil-stained T-shirt who works on neighbors' cars in a makeshift backyard shop or even in the shadows of a broad-limbed shade tree. He might have a jacked-up car or two in the yard and a motor hanging by a chain from a rusting swing set.
Everyone has at least heard of Facebook and Twitter. Both are Internet services that allow you to connect with existing friends or create new friends and to share information with those online friends.
People who are new to this corner of the earth quickly realize there are two types of people: Those who are From Here and those who aren't.
Frequently, someone will show me an arrowhead they have found and ask if it is from the Choctaw or Chickasaw Indians. When I say neither and it's also not an arrowhead, I get real funny looks. To make matters worse, I usually add that the Indians around here did not live in tepees either.
Saturday Felder Rushing introduced the crowd at the Hitching Lot Farmers' Market to Don Featherstone. Gonzo gardener, radio personality and author, Rushing is something of a rock star on the gardening speaking circuit. And, on this morning he showed why, going full tilt for two hours in front of a standing-room-only audience, most of whom wore smiles the entire time.
Here are three Internet-related things that every business needs to make sure they are doing right now.
Much of the news swirling around BP's oil spill of late is about who and what has shown up, and who and what hasn't.
By the time you read this -- assuming you're reading the print edition on the day it is published -- I'll be in the middle of a heist.
A coworker challenged me once, to write a poem every day of the year. Though I tried mightily, I didn't quite make it. But it was a lesson in self discovery.
Last week it was reported that a Utah woman is suing the software company, Google, for $100,000 because she was hit by a car after following directions provided by the company's Google Maps service.
A kid shouldn't be forced to make it through summer without access to a body of water. In "Caddyshack," Chevy Chase said he had pool and a pond. Either would be good for the kids. But we have neither, so we had to go looking.
"Much obliged." It was an expression I heard my father often use. Friday afternoon I heard the term directed toward Andrew Murphy, a barista at Kudo's coffee shop. It came from a bent, elderly gentleman nattily attired in seersucker pants, a white knit polo shirt and gray New Balance running shoes.
I recently attended a book signing in Oxford by Karl Marlantes, author of current Vietnam novel "Matterhorn" that graphically displays the personal horror and uncomfortable ennui of that war, a war we both sought out.
1. Lynn Spruill: Old Highway 82 LOCAL COLUMNS
2. Slimantics: Mandela the prisoner LOCAL COLUMNS
3. Ask Rufus: With December rains came steamboats LOCAL COLUMNS
4. Roses and thorns 12/8/13 ROSES & THORNS
5. Birney Imes: Mary Williams at your service LOCAL COLUMNS