Winter doesn’t begin for another month, yet winter has begun.  Winter is thus, I think, like old age.  You don’t wake up old one day, having left “young” behind the day before.  You ease into it.

Snow, one sign of winter, though not the only one, fell a few weeks ago.  By then, I had carted in the annuals growing in pots on the front and back porches.  I was ready for frost.

Or was I just trying to cheat winter by introducing non-native plants to my house?  After all, my six-foot rubber tree doesn’t belong here, not in Meadowview.  The Ficus elastic belongs in India or Malaysia or some other frost-free landscape. 

It started innocently enough.  I bought chunky white macadamia nut cookies at Kroger for my wife Sweetness and me to have as our midnight snack.  They are big delicious cookies, four inches in diameter, with monster macadamia nuts floating in the middle.  A dozen are packaged in a clear flat plastic box, the kind restaurants give you for a “doggie bag.” Sweetness was pleased and had one the first night with milk.  So did I.

As officially noted by the Walt Disney Company, November 18th of this year marks the 80th birthday of the animated cartoon character whom, since his conception, has not only become the company’s official mascot, but has turned into one of the most recognizable symbols in the world.  What was originally created by Walt Disney his animation partner, Ub Iwerks, to serve as a replacement for the character Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, has spawned a phenomenon that thrives to this day.  Mickey Mouse is now known to generation after generation as the best known cartoon character in America and, most likely, the world.

One Sunday, a minister and his wife were driving home after worship. He was reflecting on how well the day had gone, in particular how well his sermon had gone. In a rather pensive moment, the minister asked his wife, “How many truly great preachers do you think there are in this country?”
Without hesitating, she coolly replied, “One less than you think.”

Most folks who know me know I am, shall we say, a political aficionado. In fact, most of them would say I am an election junkie. I actually like the stuff, the campaigning, voting, the whole nine yards. But this time even I got tired of it. A presidential campaign that ran nearly two years is simply too much. Way too much. And because of that, there are a number of other issues, subjects, whatever one might wish to call them that have begun to bug me as well. And I can’t think of any better way to cure my “low-down, irritatin’, aggravatin’, I’m-tired-of-it-all-and mad-as-well-you-know-what blues.” So, at the risk of sounding like Andy Rooney on 60 Minutes, the sometimes news show, let’s say what we mean and mean what we say and clear my mind about some of this stuff.

Piney and She had an argument about writing. Was it better to plan what you were going to write, or to let your brain feed the story to you as it came out automatically?

My parents did not teach me to be prejudiced. I learned it on my own. I graduated from high school and college in Birmingham, Ala. The Magic City also had the claim to shame of being the most segregated city in the nation. The KKK brazenly stood at intersections collecting money in buckets from sympathetic motorists. They dressed in white with hoods, hiding their identities but not their maniacal purposes.

Lifelong citizens of Rural Retreat, Greg and Cheryl Hash have considered community hospitality to be of the utmost importance when it comes to running Duke’s Bar-B-Q.  As owner and operator of Duke’s since its conception in 2004, Greg and Cheryl say that one of the keys to the success of their business is making sure their customers feel at home in the restaurant, as if they were eating at the home of a family member.  That is expressed not only through their excellent home-style cuisine and exceptionally friendly, accommodating staff, but also through the nostalgic memorabilia that covers the restaurant walls.  Generated by items given to Greg by his mother and grandmother, this collection includes many old photos and newspaper clippings depicting the community over the last several generations. 

As an avid yard saler, I was disappointed with the 2008 season offerings.  I got few bargains, and even fewer “steals.” While I found a pair of suspenders that perfectly matched my favorite pair, otherwise there were no highlights.  I even went to yard sales that did not offer the two required items that every yard sale must have: 1) a Christmas tree stand, and 2) a useless kitchen appliance that makes its way from retailer to wedding to yard sale in four months, e.g. the Hamburgler.

I heard a lot of, “I’ll be so glad when this election is over.” I felt the same way.  Election excitement and passion brought out the best and worst in people. The expression of these passions was the problem.