San Francisco is quite a place and my lovely wife Lisa and I enjoyed a wonderful couple of days there this week — with a few dozen of our closest friends
Friday was a sad day for me. It was the day I had set aside to move my summer clothes to the closet in the attic. Yes, I have summer clothes — as well as year-round clothes, understand.
I wouldn’t say that my readers are old, but I realize that most of you at least remember having to dial a phone and actually walk across the room to change channels on the television set. So do I, by the way. And it is understandable that the age range of my readers is somewhere between early Geritol use and lap blankets for Christmas. I often wax nostalgic about the bygone days and most young people never seem to be interested in history until they get older and realize how much it has affected their lives.
So the big news on the legislative front in Georgia this winter will be whether or not to legalize marijuana — purely for medicinal purposes, understand. We have come a long way since “Reefer Madness” was filmed in an attempt to scare teenagers into avoiding weed no matter what.
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.
You have to be careful how you greet people, especially people who are a little long in the tooth.
“Have you forgotten how it felt that day, to see your homeland under fire, and her people blown away? Have you forgotten when those towers fell? We had neighbors still inside going thru a living hell.”
Mornings are my favorite time of day. Always have been.
Vince Dooley turned 82 on Thursday. I know. Hard to believe, isn’t it. Especially since his beautiful wife, Barbara, can’t be a day over 39 — four children and 11 grandchildren notwithstanding.
Swimming in the warm clear golden waters of the Atlantic Ocean, especially along the Crescent Beach section of North Myrtle Beach, is good for the soul. I have stolen a couple or three days from summer’s end to make a quick trip here.
It was a small blurb on the back page of an online publication I was reading. A kid had been injured in a high school football game down in Florida. It was actually the head coach’s son.
I am thankful for Dan Magill. I have written this sentence into every Thanksgiving column I’ve penned for as long as my memory serves me. I meant in every time.
Michael Brown. We have all heard the name. We have all seen the footage. We all have our own opinions about whether he was or was not a thief, whether he did or did not deserve to die, whether he was or was not a victim of police brutality and racial profiling.
Thursday mornings used to be special for me when I was a child because that’s when my daddy bought groceries every week.
Last March I went to the Holy Land. It had been a lifelong dream to walk where Jesus had walked and see the sights — and sites — that I had read about in the Bible my entire life. I wasn’t disappointed.
When I first saw the news about Robin Williams being found dead, it didn’t really affect me too much.
It is 792 miles from Houston, Texas, to Atlanta, give or take a tumbleweed here and a kudzu vine there. I left Houston on an airplane at 5:38 Tuesday night and one hour and 48 minutes later we had landed on the runway at Hartsfield International Airport. One hour and 48 minutes to go almost 800 miles. Time ain’t the only thing that flies.
The free market will pay what a person is worth and if a person makes himself or herself inexpendable (which is not a word but should be) by demonstrating special talents, skills or abilities, then that person will likely work him or herself into a larger paycheck.
In case y’all were wondering, it is dog days again. I just went for a 2-mile walk — at 9:30 in the morning — and lost about 4 pounds of water weight from perspiring. I used to sweat, back before I got so sophisticated.
This is the first letter you will have ever received from your Papa Huck, but it won’t be the last.
Twenty-nine years ago, as autumn approached, my lovely wife, Lisa, was great with child.
It’s almost time for school to start back and teachers everywhere will be scrambling to learn a new set of names.
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.”
We have just passed the 150th anniversary of the Battle for Atlanta, which occurred during the recent unpleasantness between the North and the South.
I was sitting on the front porch the other day and made the comment, “It smells like summer.”
We live in a dangerous world that is growing more and more dangerous by the minute.
I had been expecting the message for almost two years now. I still cried when it came.
Well, my thoughts might not be worth a penny, but I have a few things that I want to get off my chest today, so I am going to share a few thoughts with anyone who happens to be reading my epistle. As always, they are my thoughts. I am not trying to tell you what to think.
I have learned that the sands that flow through an hourglass seem to move much more rapidly as they near the end. I think some guy in Rome said the same thing in fewer words.
People are always asking me, “What do you miss most when you are on the road?”
I don’t think I went west of the Chattahoochee River until I was 16 years old and The Bibb sent me to New Mexico with Jerry Aldridge, but I fell in love with the American West long before that.
In Congress; July 4, 1776. That’s how the heading reads on the document we will celebrate this weekend. You know, don’t you, that the Second Continental Congress reached the unanimous decision to ratify the Declaration on July 2.
When did coffee get so complicated? I think it started when that topless mermaid out in Seattle started selling the stuff in cups with French sizing, but I’m not sure.
Is the world in as much turmoil as it seems or is it just me paying too much attention to the news — and the things I see around me? That was a rhetorical question. Don’t bother to answer.
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.
Well, the World Cup is being played this month and it is time for America to pay attention to soccer again — just as we do every four years. Did you know that the rest of the world calls it football?
My mother used to tell me, every so often, that I was a Methodist for nine months before I was born. She carried me — so to speak — to the Julia Porter United Methodist Church every Sunday of my pre-natal life.
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 is OK. We are just men. We get that. No, really. We do.
I have now seen evil.
So here we are, somewhere in Europe. Where, exactly, I would hate to try and guess. Don’t get me wrong — I know where I am, but it is like the old Humphrey Bogart line from Casablanca. “If it’s midnight in Casablanca, Sam, what day is it in New York?”
Monday I was in Normandy. I saw Gold Beach. Members of my party stood on Omaha Beach. Some even waded into the water. I looked up at the cliffs of Point du Hoc and marveled that any human could have done what the Rangers did on that day.
Today I am ready to endorse Jack Kingston in the July 22 Republican primary runoff.
I was late to the party — but I have more than caught up. I am speaking now of the television sitcom — they do still call them sitcoms, don’t they? — “Big Bang Theory.”
It’s finally summertime again and folks will be hitting the road from Kalamazoo to Timbuktu for vacation trips — or, as they say in Europe, people will be on holiday.
I broke my own rule Thursday night and I am glad I did. I accepted a speaking engagement inside the perimeter.
Forgive me if you’ve heard this story before. On second thought, I take that back. Even if I have shared it, this one bears repeating and is probably more relevant today than it was when the incident occurred — back when I had all my hair, among other things.
My lovely wife, Lisa, and I are what you might call climatically incompatible.
I spoke last week at the Milledge Avenue Baptist Church in Athens — yes, I remembered to show up; can’t you let that go? — and was reminded immediately of how much I miss Claude McBride.
While rushing through the Atlanta airport Monday morning I glanced at the main headline on a copy of USA Today in the overpriced newsstand. It had to do with the eruption of gunfire at voting precincts in Ukraine. And yet people voted anyway.
For the first time since the spring of 2004 I do not have a child who is a student at the University of Georgia.