I must confess: I know nothing of football. Mama and I would often wait until Daddy, my three older brothers and Uncle Wayne got consumed with the surround sound of our family TV and then disappear into the sanctity of her light blue ceramic bathroom.
Thursday afternoon while eating Indian food, I thought about Leo Spatz. A bit of history: A native of Germany, Leo came to Columbus in 1935 to manage the restaurant and coffee shop of the Gilmer Hotel, a four-story, Civil-War era brick building where the Gilmer Inn is now. Leo's father ran the kitchen and his wife Florence was hostess. For my mother's generation, the Gilmer was the fashionable place to go.
Earlier this week the Greater Starkville Development Partnership honored its members who have contributed to the community. A wide assortment of people and businesses were recognized for their volunteerism and altruism.
In the wake of the President's State of the Union address the nation's economy has become the most discussed and debated issue facing our nation today.
Tuesday morning I turned on the radio and was greeted by the news of Pete Seeger's death. "Impossible," I thought, stunned.
There is still no cure for the common cold. Medicine-sellers offer us lots of choices to calm the symptoms -- a spray for congestion, a pill for aches, a syrup to comfort the cough. But no elixir exists to stop a cold in its tracks.
My wildlife biologist brother spent some time with us over the holidays. Coming through the door, he said, "Being the creative type, I saw something that you might want, but you have to tell me right now so I can go get it."
It's Super bowl time and conversations turn to professional football. While Mississippi has never had an NFL team, there have been pro football teams from minor or indoor leagues.
People often ask me if I am still flying. When I say no, the next question is, "Don't you miss it?" My answer may sound unpleasantly snobbish, but it really isn't meant to be. I have not stayed current (the term for being licensed and eligible to legally fly an airplane) and I have no plans to get back in the air anytime soon, if at all.
Someday, when the story of the LGBT struggle for Civil Right in Mississippi is told, people such as Ben Carver, Roy A. Perkins and Henry Vaughn will be regarded as pioneers of the movement.
Thanks to the Stennis-Capitol Press Forum, I was able to receive a briefing on the current Legislative session from both the leaders of the Mississippi House and the Senate.
He is a Labrador retriever and anyone who owns one will understand this. Harper, my dog, eats stuff. When it comes to what, he does not discriminate.
In the beginning, God formed a committee to discuss the status of earth. The committee met regularly for a few millennium before releasing its report, which concluded that the earth was "without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep."
The lake was frozen solid and there, in the center, was a pile of white duck feathers. I ran for the telescope and stood at the window to see if the ducks were moving at all; it was hard to tell. I panicked. Could I save them if they weren't already dead?
January may be a strange time to bring up the mint julep but maybe it makes a good forerunner to springtime and warmer weather.
On a recent Saturday morning an intrepid group of nature enthusiasts gathered on a strip of pavement at the eastern edge of Locafoma Lake in the Noxubee Wildlife Refuge. They had braved wind and sub-freezing temps in hopes of seeing the Refuge's resident eagles. They had not come in vain.
I dropped off a dozen cans of cat food to the Humane Society recently. I was checking on the work in an apartment to ready it for a new tenant when I found them.
A new year, but some things will always stay the same. Government inefficiency is one of them. It's always easy to waste someone else's money.
Last week I was asked to explain the origin of the old saying "The Lord be willing and the creek don't rise." There are several traditions about the origin of the phrase but one clearly sticks out in my mind.
In William Saroyan's short essay "Finlandia," he writes of going into a music store in Helsinki and asking the girl working there if she knows "Finlandia," the symphonic poem by the Finnish composer Jean Sibelius. Saroyan, then 27, had heard the piece five years earlier and had been haunted by it since. The girl finds the record and puts it on the turntable. She and the writer stand and listen to the music, both of them transfixed by its beauty. Afterward Saroyan asks the girl's English-speaking coworker if she knows the composer. She does and gives him a phone number.