I have always loved Christmas and its traditions; even as I have grown older, I find that really deep in my heart I still believe in Santa Claus and the spirit of the whole season, and I just can't wait until I see the "Frosty the Snowman" and "Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer" re-runs at this time of year with the grandchildren.
This was written in a cave somewhere in Greater Bora Bora. The column was floated across the ocean in an RC Cola bottle to this newspaper. (I have no idea how the editors got it from bottle to print. I assumed that if editors can figure out where commas go, they ought to be able to figure out how to print a column in a bottle.)
Last month, the police commissioner of New York, Bill Bratton, was quizzed at a conference by Jeffrey Toobin, a writer for The New Yorker. Bratton had been the police chief in Boston and Los Angeles, as well as New York's once before, and he is a well-known champion of what is known as the "broken windows" school of policing. Toobin asked him what could account for the precipitous drop in crime in New York City. Bratton responded in a flash: The cops.
As a radiation oncologist at Covington's Radiotherapy Centers of Georgia - Newton County, every day I am able to witness the positive impact that innovations in cancer care have on patients' lives, particularly in the field of radiation oncology. Recent advancements in technology have extended and greatly enhanced the quality of life for many people right here in our community who have been diagnosed with potentially deadly cancers.
This was one of those things that cause you to say, "Ah, Shucks" or something similar.
In Don Marquis' classic satirical book, "Archy and Mehitabel," Mehitabel the alley cat asks plaintively, "What have I done to deserve all these kittens?"
Take one disgruntled trails supporter and point her toward a little town where a river runs through it, and you've got the makings of a whole new definition for the word "trail." Just call it a "blue trail," the wet equivalent of a multi-purpose trail. The disgruntled trails supporter is creative Covington resident Kimberly Brown; the little town is Porterdale, where the word "never" is never uttered; and the river is the Yellow River, for long a despoiled stretch of water that is now enjoying a blossoming re-birth.
I usually try to run the big decisions by you before I take action, but I know you have been distracted over the past weeks watching our selfless public servants in Washington put our interests and those of our nation above petty, partisan political sniping in the debt ceiling debate and marveling at how our crackerjack president, Mr. Swivelhead, makes Jimmy Carter's woebegone administration look like a cross between the Garden of Eden (pre-apple tasting) and Brigadoon.
At one time part of the tenth grade curriculum involved teaching business letters - a skill which, no doubt, is no longer relevant, just like teaching cursive.
People love cliches like, "He's worth his weight in gold!" I'll bet we've all used that famous phrase when we wanted to praise someone or something. We'll say things like, "My fancy, new cordless electric drill is worth its weight in gold," even though no one would be dumb enough to pay that much for one as long as Sears is still in business. Still, it seems perfectly acceptable to compare things to gold. Gold is rare and valuable. It wouldn't do to use a measure of questionable value, would it? Would you say, "My ...
As of this writing Tiger Woods - who has been more like Bear Woods in recent months - has recovered from his injuries and coming out of hibernation to return to competitive golf.
There is no question that we have had one hot and steamy summer. It's a summer that has put a financial squeeze on many of our local residents as the costs to keep cool have been almost as unbearable as the summer heat.
It's the last few weeks of summer. For those of us with children in school, this is our last chance to get away before becoming engulfed in school schedules, homework, activities and carpool. For children, it is their last chance to be carefree, sleep in and play with friends.
Many years ago, the Saturday Evening Post was one of the best-known magazines in America. But somehow I learned that the Saturday Evening Post was actually published on Wednesday morning. That was a little disconcerting at first. But it was one of the most valuable lessons, that words do not necessarily reflect reality.
For most of us most of the time, the days of our lives go rolling along placidly and maintain a predictable pace. The paper arrives at 5:30 a.m. The garbage truck comes on, say, Thursdays, and most of us manage to get the Herby Curby out the night before. (It's hit or miss here.) The laundry gets picked up on Saturdays, and Wednesday is Senior Citizen's Day at the local grocery.
School starts this week. I taught high school English (or language arts as it is now called) for over 30 years and have been retired for over 10 years.
The 15th anniversary of the 1996 Centennial Olympic Games has come and gone with barely a whimper. Looking back, the Olympic Games were not the City of Atlanta's finest hours - or days. They were given a unique gift and didn't know what to do with it. I know. I was managing director - communications and government relations for the Atlanta Committee for the Olympic Games - and had a front row seat to all the action.
Think about it: Do you ever go through your days or weeks responding to situations or to the people in your life as if you were a robot? My answer, regrettably, would be "yes." I'm definitely not a pilot, but you could call me an "autopilot." My responses, decisions and actions often derive from instinct or intuition, habit, cues from the people with whom I come in contact or commonly perceived expectations in certain situations.