I found two cool shirts on the clearance rack at Wal-Mart.
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Remember when it was fun to fly the friendly skies? Back when flight attendants were called stewardesses, traveling by airplane was special. Meals were served and the cabin crew was glad to see you. Passengers dressed up, there was plenty of seat room and screaming babies were strapped to the wing. (Just checking to see if you were paying …
Iím always excited to see Clemson or USC athletes ascend to the NFL, but it was particularly thrilling to watch former Gamecock quarterback Connor Shaw play in the preseason Monday Night Football matchup between the Cleveland Browns and Washington Redskins.
Iíve been paying a lot of attention to advertising signs and billboards while on the road lately. I donít text and drive during my frequent travels, but I do take the occasional peek at the signs along the way.
Once youíre in the news business, youíre never really out of the news business. Which is why Iím still obsessed with the news business.
I was lamenting timeís passage the other day in a Facebook post, about how a person seems to have all the time in the world when he has nothing to look forward to, but the moment you find someone you really like and would love to spend all your time with, somebody upstairs hits the fast forward button and before you know it, your timeís up, sheís …
Isnít it funny how we obsess over the little things?
Iím clumsy. Awkward. A klutz. Always have been.
It is well documented that I am not a handyman.
I hate heat, so this is not my favorite season. Actually, in South Carolina we have only two seasons: Hot, and Christmas. Itís not Christmas.
We live in a pastoral little hamlet, Widdle Baby and I.
I have to stop watching HGTV. Itís giving me a complex.
Life as I know it has become manifested in the dim, blinking brake lights in the distance, having left me behind.
Sometimes you just need to buy the shoes.
Last year it was the Summer of Monopoly Ė a golf shirt the color of every street on a Monopoly board.
Thereís this stranger who yells at noisy kids, shakes his fists at speeders in the neighborhood, glares at youngsters who thump the subwoofers in their cars at sub-atomic testing, and has yet to understand most of the applications on his cellphone.
Remember the mean kids in high school? The ones who did mean stuff to impress their mean friends, then laughed about it, because they were mean?
Thereís never a dull moment at Crazy Acres.
In my defense, it looked cool and refreshing. Cool as in temperature-wise, not style, and refreshing, as in maybe a little aromatic relief from this ridiculous heat.
Thanks to Facebook, I know now which Brady Bunch kid Iíd be, what kind of dog I am and how long I would survive a zombie apocalypse. (Jan, beagle and foreverómy husband is handy with a shotgun, and I swing a mean cast iron skillet. I think weíd be OK. You thought I was going to say I donít believe in zombies, didnít you?)
I drive a lot between here and Atlanta, sometimes twice in a month.
Sometimes I watch life go by and think, ďWow, I havenít been surprised in a while.Ē
Iíd like to thank all who have written, called, visited, emailed and texted since my motherís death. Youíve soothed me and made me remember the good times.