“For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul? “ Mark 8:36-37 The year was 1863. Abraham Lincoln was President. Strife ruled. The nation was at war with itself. The landscape by most visionaries …
Stored in the recesses of a woman’s brain are some sore spots put there mostly by men. These raw, unresolved irritants, small and large, can become volcanoes. You know an eruption is near when you hear, “That’s a sore subject with me.” ********** Men are at a distinct disadvantage in relationships with women. They stumble …
To anticipate or to possess, that’s the question. Which satisfies most? ********** It’s Sunday morning, cool, high 60’s. Brilliant sunshine, slight breeze, quiet house. The Bulldog Nation is at rest, their anticipation become reality…Dawgs whip Gators. Bogey, our dog, sleeps while the sausage sizzles. Can life get better? Yes, and No. Depends on one’s expectations. …
“The loneliest walk of your life—to get your own switch.” Richard Pryor ********** I suppose relating to such a quote would depend on where and when one spent their youth. Perhaps it would apply mostly to little boys running around in their short pants, creating mischief with less brain power than a gnat. Now they’re …
“Hey if it wasn’t for bad luck y’all, Oh, I wouldn’t have no luck at all.” Ray Charles ********** I’ve been thinking about luck while sitting around nursing a gimpy leg from too much weed pulling. I’m having a conference with myself…the kind that leads nowhere but to muddled confusion. In my misery of immobility …
“He’s good people.” Maybe it’s not the best English, but you’ve heard it said this way if you grew up in almost any small town in the South. And you know what it means. ********** Terry Toole is owner and publisher of my weekly hometown newspaper, The Miller County Liberal. He graciously publishes my Weakly …
It’s an afternoon in August when my editor’s note arrives. It’s terse: “Article deadline, September 10th. Theme, Spirit of Christmas. Don’t make me hound you for it.” I read it again. Christmas already? Is the North Pole melting and has Santa contracted with Amazon for delivery this year? I shake my head in disbelief. Jumping …
Life and ideas are like an urn of potpourri filled with dried petals of flowers past. Things bloom, then die, leaving their brief trails of essence. My notebooks are urns filled with short-lived ideas that bloomed but had shallow root. The least I can do is give them honorable mention that they once lived. We’re …
We have a new dog. I’m teaching him the finer points of fitting into polite society. It might be easier to teach him to walk on water. I’m over my head either way. His name is Bogey. He’s a hound, thinks he’s human. He rebelled at some other names. Humphrey didn’t suit him, and he …
It’s another Dog Days Saturday in Dixie. Anybody living in the humidity-soaked South knows what this means. Sweat. I’ve been validating this thesis on the back porch, assigned to an ‘attitude evaluation project.’ Women validate their own thesis: men need remedial adjustments early and often. Today is mine. The project is assembling new porch furniture. …