I don’t know how they do it. Yankees, I mean. I will admit that it is time to give the devil his due. I am speaking of the hearty folks from the frozen tundra of our northernmost states — the people in Cleveland and Buffalo and Green Bay, Wis., who go out in weather that is fit for neither man nor beast and sit and watch football.
Tuesday is Veterans Day, and without that long line of men and women who have stood in harm’s way to protect our freedoms, we would have none.
I have three longstanding rules. I don’t do book reviews. I don’t do any Christmas shopping until the last minute. I don’t sing Christmas carols until the Great Tree bursts into light on Thanksgiving night.
I hate to have to admit this, but I cannot watch playoff baseball anymore. Not a whole game. I just can’t. I hate to admit this — and this is coming from a person’s whose oldest sports memory is of Yogi Berra jumping astride Don Larson after the last strike in the only perfect game in World Series history — but I find the games terribly tedious and terribly boring.
OK. I haven’t given anyone a quiz in a long time. What do “Just the facts, ma’am,” “Sorry about that, Chief,” and “What you talking ‘bout, Willis?” have in common?
I found myself right in the middle of a rare 10-day stint at home Friday and found it impossible to ignore, any longer, my lovely wife Lisa’s extensive honey-do list.
When I first saw the news about Robin Williams being found dead, it didn’t really affect me too much.
In case y’all were wondering, it is dog days again. I just went for a two-mile walk — at 9:30 in the morning — and lost a bout four pounds of water weight from perspiring. I used to sweat, back before I got so sophisticated.
It’s dega vu all over again! That’s how Yogi put it and Yogi is a smart man, despite the fact that he has become a cult hero of sorts for the way he expresses himself in regards to the English language.
The Internet has made encyclopedias obsolete and there may come a day when it does the same to recorded music, magazines and newspapers.
I never dreamed that the day would actually come when someone asked me, “What do you do for a living?” and I could answer, “Travel the world.”
Sometimes something happens so vile and vicious that it breaks through the very fog of my unawareness and makes itself known. Such was the case Thursday when I first got an inkling that a Malaysian passenger jet had crashed — or something.
People are always asking me, “What do you miss most when you are on the road?”
In a former life, when I was a history teacher, I used to play a word association game with my students when we studied the closing of the American frontier. They weren’t as well versed in all things western as I was at their tender ages, but they came up with some pretty impressive lists. Of course, I taught some pretty impressive kids.
Did you get to watch fireworks on the 4th of July? I hope so. I love fireworks shows and have seen some dandy ones in my day — on Independence Day and at other times.
When Christopher Columbus arrived in what would come to be known as the Americas in 1492 — and I don’t really care how many Norsemen may or may not have already been here — there was population of approximately 75 million people living here, including 10 million living in the area that now comprises the United States. Columbus erroneously called them Indians because he believed he was in the East Indies.
So it’s Father’s Day and I know it does not have the same impact that Mother’s Day has on card and flower sending, gift buying and celebrating in general — which s OK. We are just men. We get that. No, really. We do.
Today I am ready to endorse Jack Kingston in the July 22 Republican primary runoff.
I broke my own rule Thursday night and I am glad I did. I accepted a speaking engagement inside the perimeter.
My lovely wife, Lisa, and I are what you might call climatically incompatible.
If you still have your mom this Mother’s Day, please cherish her.
I spent the first 22 Easters of my life, as well as I can remember, in Porterdale. I always looked forward to attending Sunrise Service at Julia A. Porter United Methodist Church, even before it was united.
I don’t know what it is about these two weeks in April, but I know that they have always led to significant drama in the history of this great country.
I went to bed Thursday night with a nice and shiny black SUV in my driveway. I woke up with a sickening yellow SUV in my driveway. Like a sneak attack from above the pollen season is upon us.
This week I have really realized just how much I really do miss teaching the history of our country to really smart teenagers
We buried Lewis Grizzard twenty years ago. It doesn’t seem possible, does it? That it has been that long?
Winston Churchill called Russia a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. Sir Winston wasn’t just whistling Dixie.
I set out 40 days ago on a fast of my own. I wasn’t going to give up eating entirely, but I was giving up all red meat, all added sugar — including drinks — all gluten, which means all bread and wheat products, and all dairy products. In other words, if it tasted good, I couldn’t have it.
Somewhere along the way the state of Georgia is going to have to decide that having students in school, in front of their teachers, is the only way to improve education. I just don’t think that day will occur between now and the end of May.
I have done something that I vowed I would not do. I have succumbed to the latest fad. I have gone gluten free. I have never felt better.
The thing that got me thinking, as I was unloading the dishwasher, was the contrast between what we have eaten off of since we set up housekeeping and what my mama had.
It seems like I have been to a lot of funerals lately, which tells me something about myself
I believe wholeheartedly in what Phoenix Pass is doing. So here is what you can do for me. You can call 770-760-1020 and buy your tickets. They are $25 apiece and every dime goes to do the work of Phoenix Pass. Every dime
You are welcome to wallow in the remnants of 2013. I am eager to stride into 2014 with excitement and anticipation. To paraphrase my good friend, Lou Richt, I think it is going to be the “greatest year of my life.”
That has been 53 years and I still see some of my classmates from time to time and we still laugh about the Christmas when Miss Jordan’s class garnered every item listed in the Sears-Roebuck catalogue.
But growing up and watching the Macy’s Parade and “Miracle of 34th Street” and the lighting of the tree in Rockefeller Center on my little black-and-white television set convinced me that the Big Apple had to be the place where all the cool people went to celebrate the holidays.
Well, if you have been traipsing to your mailbox every day since Thanksgiving, hoping to find a card from yours truly, you may be feeling like Charlie Brown right about now.
Please. Don’t just think to yourselves, “I’ll do that.” Actually do it. If not today, tomorrow. Don’t put it off. There are dozens of places you can take your toys locally.
I am thankful for memories — even sad ones — because memories mean that significant events have occurred in my life. I am thankful for every card and letter and phone call of encouragement I have received over the past two years and I am thankful for each and every prayer that has been sent heavenward on my behalf.
There is one problem that being a former educator has produced. What do I do with all those crazy school ties?
Sometimes I wish I could just pave over the yard and paint it green. I have been doing this for weeks now and when I look up into the trees they still look 95 percent full. Yet another disadvantage of being a retired school teacher.
I am a man of tradition. That’s another way to say that I am old and set in my ways, I suppose. If it was good enough for my parents it should be good enough for me.
I don’t know how he knows but Jodey, who is really good at this stuff, tells me that we have a couple thousand regular listeners in 30 states and five or six foreign nations. Folks are sitting down in the United Kingdom and Norway listening to me talk about how things used to be in the American South. It’s a great country, isn’t it. Who’d a thunk it?
Please don’t forget that the “compromise” reached by the two parties was merely temporary and we might get to do this all over again in early 2014.
The inhabitants here call their little piece of paradise the Conch Republic because in 1982, when the U.S. Government set up barricades on U.S. 1 and stopped and searched every car coming into Key West, the city council voted to secede from the Union and become an independent republic. The whole thing was rather tongue-in-cheek but it got Key West the attention it was seeking and soon the roadblock was lifted.
I don’t know if those principals got anything out of listening to me last week, but I certainly enjoyed the trip down Memory Lane the opportunity afforded me.
Yankees say we Southerners are not too bright. At least we know enough chemistry to understand the melting point of sugar.
Checking things off your list is a whole lot tougher than you think.
This week I found myself with a bit of spare time on my hands and thought I might earn a few brownie points by attacking the accumulated clutter of the past three decades. After all, the holiday season is just around the corner. Imagine Lisa’s delight when she trudges upstairs to get the Christmas wreaths this year and finds that order has replaced chaos. That’s what I told myself, but alas, it was not to be. This time it was quilts.
Dear Dr. Jamie Leigh, I can’t wait to walk you down the aisle. I know that you will be the most beautiful bride in the history of marriage and I am thankful that God has let me hang around long enough to enjoy this moment.