Sometimes you just need to buy the shoes.
Last year it was the Summer of Monopoly – a golf shirt the color of every street on a Monopoly board.
There’s 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?
There’s 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 I’d be, what kind of dog I am and how long I would survive a zombie apocalypse. (Jan, beagle and forever—my husband is handy with a shotgun, and I swing a mean cast iron skillet. I think we’d be OK. You thought I was going to say I don’t believe in zombies, didn’t you?)
I drive a lot between here and Atlanta, sometimes twice in a month.
Sometimes I watch life go by and think, “Wow, I haven’t been surprised in a while.”
I’d like to thank all who have written, called, visited, emailed and texted since my mother’s death. You’ve soothed me and made me remember the good times.
This is an update on my very first Fanfare for the Common Man column titled “An Ode to Jeffrey.”
A look at some news—recent and not so much—that made me shake my head…
I have so many blessings, it’s a crime to complain. So I won’t. Except for one… leetle… thing.
You might notice I no longer sit while covering sporting events.
My mother had a small head. I know that because I’m wearing her floppy sun hat. I’m wearing her floppy sun hat because she left it to me when she died on April 25.
On June 10, we will have state primary elections for both Democrats and Republicans; this we know for sure. What we don’t know, and what many are worried about, is will the actual voting and election process work honestly and smoothly the way its suppose to.
I love my husband, and he loves me. But there are things about him - and men in general - that leave me stumped.
If you were to look for parallels across history to compare with the next 600 words you are about to read, upon reflection I’ve come up with one: Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address.
I like to think of myself as a dedicated runner. I also like to think of myself as a six-foot tall redheaded showgirl, so we can see where this is going.
It’s National Library Week! Go kiss a librarian. Or not--s/he might not appreciate being smooched at the circulation desk. Maybe we should take them cupcakes. Or hug it out. Or both.