All y’all old enough probably remember old Fats Domino singing, “Blue Monday,” where old Fats says how he hates Mondays. Well, Brother Domino (a pretty good singer by the way) ain’t the only one. According to that thing old Rock uses, Wikipedia, the online encyclopedia (en.wikipedia.org), “Modern culture usually looks at Monday as the beginning of the workweek, as it is typically Monday when adults go back to work and children back to school after the weekend. Thus, Mondays are often seen as a misfortune.”
Well, I’m here to tell all y’all, this past Monday was a corker, according to Rock.

Pillsbury’s famous commercial reminds us that “nothing says loving like something from the oven.” Country women are notoriously good cooks who love sharing their recipes along with their delicious dishes. 

Congressman Rick Boucher sounds convinced that Southwest Virginia could be roaring the same tune as the Celtic Tiger in the not-too-distant future.
Unfortunately, there’s a world between could be and will be. 

During the early part of the 20th century, Texas Baptists called him the Texas Tornado. As pastor of First Baptist Church of Fort Worth, J. Frank Norris lashed out against almost everyone and everything. In one of his infamous hate campaigns, “The Tornado” tore into the mayor of Fort Worth because he was Roman Catholic. Dexter Clipps, a supporter of the mayor, confronted Norris in his study over some of the pastor’s defaming remarks. There were no witnesses to the conflict, but Norris claimed self-defense when he shot the unarmed Clipps in the church office. A Fort Worth jury acquitted him.

I know fall is coming. Lately, every morning, a small flock of Mourning Doves gathers in our front yard for breakfast. They return in the evening for supper. They are beautiful. Their call, on the other hand, is a somewhat sad sound (thus their name “mourning” doves). Larger flocks of other birds, such as starlings, are beginning to gather, but they generally gather in larger fields to feed.

Many years ago one of my teenage jobs was pumping gas for customers of our family’s country store. We provided full service for all patrons including pumping their gas, washing their windshields, and checking their oil and other fluids at no extra charge.

I knew who Carlos Mencia was and although I had seen very little of his standup routine on television, I knew somewhat about his comedic style.  I was aware of his controversial material, which included jabs at people of every race, social class, political affiliation and ethical belief and his desire to eliminate the need for political correctness.  His trademark catch phrase “dee dee dee,” which is used to classify stupid people, was a popular playful jab between my friends Shane and Jarrett in high school.  It wasn’t until recently that I found out the origin of that phrase.

I didn’t like it when they re-routed the road, lassoing the Tobias-Smyth cabin in asphalt. I didn’t like it when I heard Wiley would be getting an upgrade and might stop looking like a set piece for “Dead Poets Society.” And I for sure wasn’t excited about a three-story addition, green or not, to Byars Hall. 

I stopped in front of the house and double-checked the address. A family had been visiting our church for several weeks indicating they would like to unite with the church. Now I was about to visit with them about that desire.

A single white candle sits in my office. It’s unimpressive in physical size – only a little more than four inches tall and finger-width wide. Tiny balls of wax hardened where they spilled over the top and a blackened wick tell that the candle has been burned. The flimsy cardboard finger protector still rests about midway down the molded wax tube giving a bit of testimony about its use.
The candle was lit once—on Sept. 12, 2001.