There comes a time for all of us when we finally feel our age. I turned 39 a few weeks ago. This is a birthday no one wants to celebrate. It’s much like 29, but 10 years worse. I recall, incredulously, that once, I actually wished to be older. Now, I want the clock to turn back, or at least slow down for a precious minute or two.
Written on Saturday, Oct. 3, prior to the MSU/Georgia Tech football game. “Nice to see the faculty raises being put to good use!” joked a school administrator to an MSU professor, referring to the huge banner of Coach Dan Mullen hanging along the side of one of the stadium ramps.
A new Census report out this week shows that Mississippi remains the poorest state in the nation, which comes as little surprise to anyone, especially those either without a job or cashing a meager paycheck each week. (We’re also the lowest-wage state in the nation.)
Saturday morning Gordon Parker leaned against a battered blue pickup truck loaded with Vardaman sweet potatoes. Parker, a truck farmer who lives in Hamilton, grows peas, tomatoes, okra, corn, butter beans and two types of pole beans, Louisiana purple pod and rattlesnake, which he sells at the Hitching Lot Farmers’ Market.
I’m starting to understand how people in Seattle must feel. The rain is here, and it won’t go away. When is the last time we had a clear day, sunup to sunup? At this point, it seems days like that never existed. Somewhere, children are gathered around a rocking chair as Grandpa spins a tall tale about how he once left his car sunroof open overnight, and nothing happened.
“I hate LSU!” These may very well be some of the very first words I ever heard. Still today, if you ever meet my parents (especially my mother), you'll hear them, too.
With the exception of the excerpt from Steve Rogers' column, the following quotes were taken from a Sept. 17 joint meeting of the Lowndes County Supervisors and the Columbus City Council to discuss the county's recreation needs. They were compiled by Birney Imes.
Saturday, after the rains, Patricia McKinley sat on the porch of her house listening to music and visiting with her daughter and a handful of friends. McKinley has lived in the house all her 48 years. It belongs to her 84-year-old grandmother, who still lives there. Located at the corner of Coretta and Seventh Avenue North, the house is among a sprinkling of structures in this forgotten corner of the city that may give way for the proposed city park/soccer complex.
I’m sorry to say it, but I miss the good ol’ days when nobody apologized. “Carry the battle to them,” Harry Truman famously said. “Don’t let them bring it to you. Put them on the defensive. And don’t ever apologize for anything.”
As a child growing up in the Church I learned the cute little children's song “Father Abraham” (and it's corresponding physical movements): Father Abraham had many sons, many sons had Father Abraham I am one of them and so are you, so let's just praise the Lord! Right arm! Left arm!
Olympia Dukakis says she only saw her father cry three times. When she was a teenager she asked him if she could get a job at the Dairy Queen. “No,” her father said, tears welling in his eyes. “Right now I want you to enjoy your youth. Don’t worry, you’ll work.”
I’m engaged in a project which is requiring me to take a personality test. If you’ve had access to the Internet for more than five minutes, then you’ve probably taken a baker’s dozen of tests and quizzes. Some are serious, like those that gauge healthy habits or depression. Online IQ tests are rampant and common.
Four years ago I was at home with my wife and sons, sleeping in my bed, and going on with the routines of my life up in Kentucky. Four years ago, Hurricane Katrina hit the Gulf Coast, then levees broke and water inundated the city of my birth. My best friends from high school down in St. Charles Parish had been forced to scatter; I learned later that some were in Florida, many had gone to Texas, and others into the mid-west.
Sometimes all it takes is a picture. The most eagerly anticipated question of the just completed Columbus charrette was the recommendation on where to put the soccer complex the city and county want to build.
We were driving through West Point toward Columbus last weekend when I had the bright idea to make a detour past Old Waverley, which we’d never explored before.
It was as surreal a scene as I would ever experience. In the final days of the Soviet Union in the winter of 1991, my American air crew and I stood on the tarmac at Shermecheko airport outside Moscow intermingled with a cadre of a hundred Soviet soldiers, dressed in their full length Peter the Great coats, as they manually downloaded our C-5 cargo aircraft.
A couple of weeks ago my Commercial Dispatch column “Holy Health Care!” was picked up and carried in a few other newspapers. Something about it spoke to people.
I'd like to address two rumors I've heard this week: first, that quarterback Brett Favre is retired; and second, that the upcoming 3rd Annual Pardon Johnny Cash Flower-Pickin' Festival in Starkville is dead.
This past weekend mine and Beth’s high school class — S.D. Lee High’s “Mighty Class of ‘69” — held its 40th reunion. We observed the usual roster of events: a Friday night gathering at Grahams’ Camphouse and Local History Museum (Jimmy and Jo Ann Graham are due much gratitude for sharing with the community this remarkable setting they’ve created.), a memorial service for classmates who have died and a Saturday night dance featuring Big Ben Atkins at the Country Club.
The 7-year-old walked too close to the swing set at school, and got clocked by a swinging kid — right in the teeth. I didn’t see the immediate aftermath, but it must have looked like a scene from “Carrie.” Somehow she managed to bleed on her socks.
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