Seeing multi-millionaires run, fall, get up, run, fall, get up ad nauseam with silly high-fives bored me so much I quit watching NFL football.
When the spectacle ends, they climb into luxury cars wearing flashy jewelry, drive to lavish homes, enjoy fine cuisine, dress in designer’s clothing then head out for an evening of convincing their naïve minions what princely legends they will become.
There’s an old African proverb that claims, “It takes a village to raise a child.” The proverb is often attributed to Hillary Clinton’s 1996 book titled It Takes a Village, but Clinton actually borrowed the phrase and the concept from the African continent. The wise claim is expressed in several different languages there, and while the premise seems perfectly clear on the surface, some have put forth the idea that Clinton meant that the state can raise your child better than you can. That’s a conversation for another day.
I tasked myself to reupholster my kitchen chairs a few months ago. I gathered my sewing supplies, hammer, tacks, and a staple gun. With the ideal fabric selected and no set design ironed out, I let my creative mind wander. A vision unfolded.
Aware of consequences early in life taught me to avoid places where alcoholic beverages are served. I know if a drunk commits a felony I could be considered guilty by association.
Good Grief. It just hit me. I was sending a congratulatory note to Ann Jackson Tiberghein. She is retiring from teaching. She was an art teacher in Gwinnett County Schools. And she is retiring.
Mother’s Day is this Sunday; I trust most all of you know that and if you forgot, you can thank me later. I have been a mom for the past 28 Mother’s Days; for that and other reasons, it’s a very sentimental day for me. You see, I lost my mother when I was 16 years old. She died of acute myelogenous leukemia, after courageously battling the wicked disease for a little more than three years.
I do believe spring is here, and I, for one, am thrilled. Seems like winter just didn’t want to let go this year, didn’t it? Here in the South, the arrival of spring inspires us to open up the house, spruce up the yard, and enjoy the beauty of nature that surrounds us all.
Has spring finally settled in? I ask myself that in late April, as the winds howl and rain gushes through our gutters. I can’t remember a time when winter held on as tight as it has this year, reluctant to loosen its grip and wait its turn to come back around. I get the feeling we’re going to go from cool and breezy to hot and humid overnight, don’t you? We’re just about due for some hot, sunny days strung together for a while, probably until late October.
My father passed away five years ago, on March 2, 2013. Seems like it was just yesterday because there are times when the sadness washes over me in waves that can be difficult to navigate. Most of the time though, I just miss him. Something funny will happen, or something important or interesting will occur to me, and I’ll think, “I’ll call Dad and tell him.” But of course, I can’t call Dad. I’ll never be able to call him again.
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