I was just recently reading about people who "swim with the sharks." It seems there is some kind of thrill they get from this. I guess it's about an adrenaline rush. They get in a tank with maneaters, and sometimes they even touch them as they swim by.
I always remember Easter as being a wonderful time of year. The colors of spring and the disappearance of snow (thankfully), the excitement of egg hunts and wearing new clothes for church on Sunday - it always was a special time in our house.
I remember all of the Easters of my life more clearly than any other holidays. Christmases blur together with only a few standing out in my memory, such as the one when it snowed all day, the year I lost my voice completely and the two times that I wasn't home - one working in Washington, D.C., and another in London.
Deciding to have only one child was not an easy choice for my husband and me. We weighed the pros and cons, considered our careers and work demands, examined our finances, mapped out future plans, took our ages into account, set goals for ourselves and our daughter and thought long and hard about the options before us. Really, we did.
I wish I had been there. In Jerusalem. With Jesus.
As anyone who gets behind the wheel knows, driving around the Coastal Empire can be an exercise in frustration, but there's always a bright side. In our case, it's this: Traffic here is still a cakewalk compared to what our fellow motorists in Atlanta have to deal with on a daily basis.
Congress appointed an independent commission to travel the United States and hold meetings with active and retired soldiers and their spouses. The commission is designed to see what is important to our military and their families - even though there already is a proposed budget that outlines the cuts that will affect our military families.
MOULTRIE - Today at the breakfast club, not a mention was made of the Ukrainian crisis, the missing Malaysian airliner or Obamacare - nary a word. It was all about small talk. Small talk, but by way of deep thought.
For years, I blamed it on those royal-blue suede high-heel pumps. The ones with the ridiculously tall, spiked heel and absurdly pointed toe. I was 22 when I bought them, 36 when I donated them to the Salvation Army.
I don't believe in illness. OK, perhaps I should rephrase that - I don't believe in a minor illness' ability to keep me down. Unless I'm dragging a limb, hospitalized or totally unable to keep food down at all, I refuse to disrupt my ultra-busy daily routine to do silly things like "rest" or "recuperate."
Editor, The annual Spring Book and Yard Sale sponsored by the Friends of the Richmond Hill Library on Saturday, April 5, was a resounding success. Although FOL offers books for sale every day in the library, the spring and fall sales are special events that raise the majority of the funds the group contributes to meet the library's needs.
Some of my favorite memories involve time being quiet.
Editor, I saw small-town family values and teamwork by rec coach Tyler Gunderson and the Richmond Hill Wildcats basketball team that made them come to life in Richmond Hill. This team won the league for the season.
April is Child Abuse Prevention Month in Georgia, as proclaimed by Gov. Nathan Deal. Child abuse is a subject I don't like to think about, let alone write about, and you probably would just as soon not read about. But it is there, and we need to acknowledge it and demand some solutions.
In the Georgia Legislature, even a relatively simple bill can turn into one of the most important pieces of legislation that is considered.
Win at life! Isn't that what we all want to do? That is the headline gracing one of the magazines sitting on our coffee table. I guess the real question is, "what defines winning at life?" After all, life has a pretty broad playing field. Maybe what best defines winning in life is society's dire need to be in control. Everyone values their independence and sense of control, right?
Editor, Recently, I've spotted some news headlines - around the region, state and country - that I never thought I'd see. It really makes me wonder, "Whatever were they thinking?"
Editor, The following is an open letter on sequestration to Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, D-Nevada, from retired U.S. Army Gen. Gordon R. Sullivan, head of the Association of the United States Army:
Remember the story of "The Little Engine That Could"? That could well describe the city of Dalton, a town of some 34,000 nestled in the corner of northwest Georgia, not far from the Tennessee line.
Lately, I've been thinking about the treasure trove that can be found in life's challenging times - the wisdom, the victories, the emotional muscle built and, of course, the stories. As those who know me well often say with a smile, "It's always about the story with her."
I realize, perhaps better than anyone, that it's not polite to ask others about their reproductive plans. I've long ranted about how much it annoyed me when friends, family members and even perfect strangers would inquire about a possible plunge into parenthood. Even now, as most of my readers know, I get aggravated when people ask whether my 2-year-old daughter, Reese, will ever be a sister.
History is fickle with heroic humans, even when they loom over their generation in service to humanity. Even presidents suffer the fickle hand of history, especially when events in their administrations overshadow them. It happened to Herbert Hoover.
Can it be? Is it September already? One of my favorite tunes, "September Song," was written by Kurt Weill and Maxwell Anderson for a Broadway musical in 1938 called "Knickerbocker Holiday." The lyrics could apply today to the current political season in Georgia: "For it's a long, long time from May to December, but the days grow short when you reach September."
By now, most of you have heard about the Ferguson, Missouri, riots, where a young unarmed male was shot by a police officer and died on the spot.
When business called my husband, Tink, back to Los Angeles, he decided to take the opportunity to have his annual check-up. When it ended, he called home.
It was Aug. 30, 1928, when mom was born in Kanawha County, West Virginia, just a year prior to the start of the great depression. Finney Holler is the more exact location of her birth, although it is a little hard to determine exactly where Finney Holler is or was. Not too long after she was born her family moved down the road to Big Chimney; which does happen to be on the map.
Last week, seemingly all the national news agencies reported on the American Academy of Pediatrics' new recommendation that middle and high schools start no earlier than 8:30 a.m. to help ensure older children get more sleep.
Have you noticed how "nostalgia" sells? This hit me like an antique butter churn the other day as I was watching television, and so many of the commercials have incorporated "old rock" music into their marketing spiels. And we can say, "Yes I remember that one!" We might even say, "Hey, that was our song!"