Goodness gracious sakes alive! The things people do in the name of the Lord!
I ran into a fellow linthead this week named Peddy Parker, from Bibb City, in Columbus. He lived near the Hertwigs who later lived near me, in Porterdale. It’s a mill village thing. You may or may not understand.
Batten down the hatches, y’all. Tornado season is upon us.
I met Phil Pete when I was coaching football at Loganville in a former life. She and her husband, Emery, were two of the first Yankees I had ever met that I genuinely liked being around.
Earlier this week, while on a tour of Israel, my smartphone died, and not one amongst us could do anything to resurrect it — not even when we visited the Garden Tomb in Jerusalem.
March is finally here. Always has been my favorite month, ever since I first saw the light of day on the 10th day of the third month way back in the previous century.
I am coming to you today from Tiberius, on the Sea of Galilee., and what a week I am having. Remember when you used to write postcards from the beach that would get home before you did? Sure you do. They all read, “Having a great time; wish you were here. Well, I am having a great time, and I do wish you were here. I wish everyone could be here in the land where Jesus walked and taught and performed miracles.
I have been thinking about my father a lot lately. We buried him 27 years ago this week.
It has become a common question. How do snow and ice know where I-20 is? And where did the snow stop falling before they built I-20?
Andy Warhol predicted that in the future, everyone would get his — or her — 15 minutes of fame. Another way of putting it might be that every dog will have his day. My friend, Jesse Kenney, had his two weeks ago at the Georgia-Auburn basketball game.
And they all lived happily ever after. I’m speaking now of Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon and the rest of the characters on the hit CBS television drama, “The Mentalist.”
In case you didn’t notice, much of the metro area was shut down Monday, and not from the ice that pelted the northern suburbs. It was Presidents’ Day. Or was it?
Ah, Valentine’s Day. The romantic holiday when we honor St. Hallmark and line the coffers of florists everywhere. You talk about price gouging? I don’t want to hear about Home Depot increasing the prices of plywood and generators after a storm until somebody does something about the price of a dozen roses being jacked up about 400 percent in the middle of February every year.
In case you have been wondering whatever happened to Mike Bobo, so have I — so I called him this week to catch up on how the former UGA offensive coordinator has been doing since signing a contract two days before Christmas to become the head coach of the Colorado State Rams in Fort Collins, Colo.. In a word, Mike Bobo has been busy.
I feel compelled today to share something I have never revealed in the newspaper. I have alluded to it in my books and have included it in oral testimony on numerous occasions, but never shared the information with the many readers who may have never had the opportunity — or desire — to hear me in person or read my books.
People have tried to convince me for years that change is good. Maybe so, but I am pretty resistant to most change.
I guess the Super Bowl was OK, that is, if you like games with spectacular plays on offense and defense, late game lead changes and controversial play-calls that will be talked about longer than the Heidi game.
About a billion-and-a-half Chinese couldn’t care less about what happens in Phoenix this weekend. As a matter of fact, I don’t much care myself, but there are those amongst us who won’t sleep a wink Saturday night because they will be so hepped up about what is going to happen on Sunday, and I ain’t talking about church, either, not even the one where I am preaching.
When my sister-in-law, Terry Lynn, came into the family she used to talk about “whomp biscuits” and I had no idea what she was talking about. Then I heard her explain that they were the kind you peeled out of a can after you had “whomped” the can on the side of the counter to pop those suckers open.
I didn’t ride the bus to school when I was a kid; I walked. No, not 5 miles through the snow. It was less than a mile, but I had to cross the Yellow River bridge.
We live in a funny world. Yes, ha, ha funny, but strange funny, too. There are just so many contradictions in our world — things to me that just don’t make a lick of sense. Take the president of the United States. Please.
I’m glad you are reading my column, whether you are holding it in your hand and getting good old-fashioned newsprint on your fingertips, or gazing at it on your own devise, be it iPad or computer or even your phone.
Wow. Education seems to be all over the news in the state of Georgia this week, and I haven’t seen a lot of positive comments. Go figure.
Seventeen years ago I published my first book, “Need Two.” That’s hard to believe, and “Need Two” is still one of the funniest books that I or Barbara Dooley have ever read. Just ask her; she’ll tell you.
Late people annoy me. There, I’ve said it.
A few of my former students, home from college, came by to visit me last week. I love seeing the kids I was able to torment in the name of education. Just kidding. Just kidding. But it really does make me feel good when the kids care enough to stop by.
I love Paris. I used to hate Paris. Then I went there. It is an incredibly beautiful city, especially at night. They don’t call it “The City of Lights” for no reason.
Every double-barreled slingshot in the western world should be flown — or would that be worn — at half-staff this week. Elly May Clampett is dead.
I was minding my own business, trying to watch a little college football on TV, when the house phone rang. How many of you still have house phones?
Wedding bells will be my theme song as not one, but two of my children will be tying the knot — 56 days apart.
This is the last column of 2014. I hope there will be many more to follow in the new year but the only things certain in life are death and taxes, so keep your fingers crossed.
As I get ready to take down my Christmas lights I have decided that I will leave one candle in my window throughout the new year. I will replace the clear soft white bulb, however, with a blue one. I support our nation’s police force. I’d hate to have to get along without them. Wouldn’t you?
A brand new year is upon us — or at least right around the corner — so I think I will do something I haven’t done in a while; I think I will publish a long list of bodacious resolutions — resolutions that I intend to keep, not just until the first threat of snow in January, but for the entire trip this rock takes around the sun.
It’s Christmas Eve — finally. We’ve been beset with advertising since Labor Day, blasted with Christmas music since Halloween and allowed ourselves to become stressed to the limit since Thanksgiving and now it is Christmas Eve.
It’s almost Christmas, which is so special for so many reasons. My first epistle for this newspaper was on Christmas Day.
So it is 2014 and I have yet another chapter to add to the story of the eternal battle between Christmas lights and yours truly — the North Georgia Piedmont’s own Clark Griswold.
I was in New York for my annual Christmas weekend. It is a magical place with all of the hustle and bustle and lights and energy.
I got together with some old teacher friends last week and we began waxing nostalgic about the good old days—back when teaching was more fun because we had more freedom in the classroom.
Did you ever see Elvis live? I did, in the Macon Coliseum, in 1973. I haven’t been impressed by anything since.
The photograph on the front page of this newspaper was stunning. A gorgeous, gigantic Christmas tree standing in the foyer of a home that is offering itself, or being offered by its owner, for an upcoming tour of homes, a custom long rooted in Southern splendor, particularly around the holidays.
Memory is strange commodity and so selective in its nuances. There are incidents in my life of which I have no recollection at all, and yet other happenstances are so indelibly imprinted on my mind that I could never forget them if I lived to be a thousand years old.
I will never forget the first foreign restaurant I frequented. I was 18 and Kevin Price and I went to Tybee Island for a couple of days with my parents. We walked into a pizza parlor across the street from our hotel and ordered what was to be my first pizza pie, and my last for quite some time.
Warren lived through his ordeal with as much courage and fortitude as anyone I have ever known. A devout Christian, he was at church every week, no matter how bad he might have felt.
So there I was — a week ago — heading south on Milledge Avenue, in Athens. It was a beautiful day and I was looking forward to stress-free weekend in Athenstown. A stress free weekend is one where I don’t have to worry about whether or not my team wins the game.
My favorite column of the year, and the easiest to write, is the one that you are reading right now. Each year as the season of Thanksgiving approaches I realize that my blessings grow exponentially in total disproportion to my years on earth.
Thursday night President Obama took a big step toward making that fundamental change that so many of us had feared since he first took office in 2009.
Well, get the rice ready to throw and let the wedding bells chime because Afton Elaine Burton — also known as Star — has found her beau, apparently a match made in heaven. At a yet to be determined time in the near future she will become — are you ready for this? — Mrs. Charles Manson.
I am officially rushing the season, y’all — for perhaps the first time in my life.
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.
Until I looked into my grandson’s sparkling blue eyes and saw that precious smile spread across his face when he recognized his Papa for the first time, I didn’t know how much joy one human being could bring to another human being.