My mother was born on June 27, 1918. Her name was Mary Grace Evans Ratledge, better known as Grace, Mama or Grandmama. At Mama’s funeral, several people mentioned that they had never known her name until that day. Well, she was just Mama.
One reads with empathy mixed with a measure of disappointment, “NFL Nonsense.. .” by Bill York of Lawrenceville, GA in the May 2018 issue of the Gwinnett Citizen. We are all thankful to Mr. York as well as other members of his family for his military service. His heart-felt reminder of those who gave their last ounce of devotion at Pearl Harbor, the Bataan Death March, Normandy, Iwo Jima, et al to preserve American freedom is much needed and touches us all.
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.
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