I know it’s Steptember.  How could I forget?  Every day this month, since I signed up with American On the Move to walk the Iditarod Trail, I’ve received a reminder in my email box along with some tip on how to be a better walker.

My wife Sweetness flew to Minneapolis to meet our friend Mary Huggins. From there they drove to Winnipeg, Canada for a conference.  While Winnipeg is almost due north of Minneapolis, to get there, like everywhere else, you have to drive to North Dakota.  I got out my map to follow their trip.

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.

As usual, this column is being written on Thursday. This happens to be Sept. 11, and is the seventh anniversary of the terrorist attacks that killed so many innocent people and destroyed the World Trade Center as well as damaging the Pentagon.

Piney was thinking back to the days of good presidents. As he drove the streets of Tampa, he remembered drives in Paris. Piney didn’t think he had ever met 12 drivers that he found more interesting than the Paris Embassy motor pool drivers in those old days. There were a dozen of them.

Recently I’ve been reading about the Amethyst Initiative, which includes a group of college presidents lobbying to lower the drinking age.  That has brought an ongoing issue back into the limelight.

Closed sessions at meetings are allowed by the Virginia Code.  However, the rules are very specific and must be followed in order to go into a closed session, while in closed session and coming out of closed session. These are not suggestions. These are enforceable laws.

I was spoiled by an early lifetime of listening to Missionary Baptist preachers, the kinds who wore clip-on ties after working a full week at a real job and accepted love offerings when the congregation insisted but usually just gave that right back to one of the less-fortunate members. Up until maybe a decade ago I’m pretty sure you couldn’t get into that particular club unless you could flat out give a speech. Sure they called them sermons in those days before they called them chatting over bagels or whatever it is they call them now.

I heard about a couple not speaking to each other. The standoff went on for days with neither budging. When the man needed to catch a plane early the next morning, he placed a note beside his sleeping wife, “Please wake me when you leave for work.” He slept smugly, knowing she would be the one to break the silence. The next morning he woke late only to find a note on the nightstand. “Wake up, or you will miss your plane.”