I know some people don’t like it much, but I sure am enjoying this cold spell. After a long stretch of feeling like I’m always covered in an electric blanket and freezing everyone else to death by keeping the heat on 65 I finally got chilly enough to turn it up on 68 and rest with a blanket over me today.
It used to be on Halloween that I loved to dress up and eat candy, but I also loved to watch a good scary movie. I’d be nervous in the dark for a while, but my nerves could handle it and for some reason it was fun to be scared. Sadly, my nerves just won’t allow me to indulge in fear anymore.
After Mama finished telling me about some cousins of mine who hitchhiked from here to California I asked her whether or not that might be where I get my yearning for adventure from. She laughed and said it could be, as her own mama’s side of the family sometimes lived like gypsies.
It was cold yesterday, and I like the cold. I’ve always loved to walk around in the woods when it’s cold. I guess that’s because I feel comfortable knowing that a snake isn’t going to get me.
2018 has been a rough year for me in some ways, and it has done nothing to erase my constant questioning about whether I’ve done anything productive with my life or whether I ever will.
It’s hard for me to believe that Easter is already upon us. That’s the way things go though, I am learning. One holiday ends and another soon follows and before you know it you have another year behind you.
About a year into my foray with motherhood, I knew I had been beaten. In the months before the boy made his grand appearance being a stay at home mom seemed like a pretty easy task.
Last week I wrote about how luxurious it made me feel to laze about in bed in the morning with my cat asleep on my feet. Little did I know that very morning would be the last I’d get with poor Clivey.
I think everybody ought to have some sort of luxury in life. For some people that might be driving a nice car, for others it might be having their nails done or something like that.
You know how I can tell time goes by fast? Because it seems like this time last week I was complaining that my tomatoes were rotten on the vine, and now it’s time to start ordering and sowing seeds again.
With only a few days left until Christmas, I am still scrambling to get into the spirit. I try very hard every year, but it always comes and goes and I just can’t seem to make the holiday magic last more than a day or two, and I’m not going to lie … the rain isn’t helping things.
Did you ever see one of those mama dogs with a fresh set of puppies and notice how she hovered over them, growling and barking at anything that she considered a threat for the first week or two?
I love Thanksgiving, and I had a great one this year. The thing I like most about it is food, naturally. Yes, I enjoy spending time with my family and being thankful for all that I have, but those are things that I generally practice all year long.
Over the past decade newspapers have lost a little something, and that makes me sad. Of course, it’s not just newspapers that have changed, but for now I’ll stick to talking about that. And it’s not the newspapers’ fault. It’s just the changes that time brings about.
A while back I stumbled on a magical book -- The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up, by Marie Kondo. I hid in the bathroom and read it at night, and what I found inside really was life changing.
Yesterday I was reading the news online, something I really don’t do that much. The headline “Wisconsin company to offer microchips for employees” on my screen immediately caught my eye. So I clicked. I was sure this was fake. But no, there actually is a company in Wisconsin that is givin…
I guess the end of my time here at the paper draws near, as my doctor has instructed me to head to the house and prop my feet up. This may be the last time you see my face on Wednesday’s Opinion page, so I just want to say thank you to everyone who has complimented me on this column.
“Oh Lord, it’s hard to be humble when you’re perfect in every way. I can’t wait to look in the mirror cause I get better looking each day…”
That’s how my dad’s very favorite song begins. It’s funny. As much ridicule as my dad takes for getting his truck stuck in the mud and for losing his cell phone at every turn, he truly is the most confident person I know!
Today there was an article on Al.com titled “Iconic Alabama mansion destroyed by fire 50 years ago today.” As soon as I saw it, I knew the one it was talking about … Forks of Cypress, located in Florence.
Today as I was driving around from place to place I heard a commercial for a news program about the Digital Dark Age — a time in the future when we may not be able to view any of our documents or photos because they will be in an obsolete format.
This Sunday is Mother’s Day, so I’m taking this special opportunity to talk about my own mom. She doesn’t like it very much when I write about her in the paper. She says she doesn’t want me to “scandalize” her, but since it’s a holiday dedicated to mothers I think it will be okay.
My gardening and greenhouse plans aren’t going very well so far this year, despite the fact that I am stubbornly trying to cling to the idea that women of old hoed cotton until the day they gave birth and returned to the cotton fields quickly after with baby in tow. I guess I am not made of the same fabric those women were made of because even as I sit here in my cushy desk chair with my feet propped up my back hurts so badly that I am coming very near having a fit of despair right here in the middle of the office in front of God and everybody.
I guess I have officially been a resident of Scottsboro for a month now, and I have to admit that I am feeling a little homesick for Schiffman’s Cove, Limrock and all my dogs and cats. I tell Michael that I’m not sure I’m going to like living in the “city.” He is quick to remind me that we aren’t living in the city, and that’s true. We live on the outskirts, and it’s pretty rural there. I can hear crickets and frogs and birds and see cows and donkeys and horses all from my front yard.
To please my dad, who says I should stop writing about chickens and that he would like to write the “real story” about my chickens, and me I won’t be writing about anything with feathers today.
You may recall in a recent column I told you that I got two incubators for Christmas. Well, as February drew to an end I started getting pretty impatient about hatching some chickens. So one rainy Sunday morning I dragged Michael to the Taco-Bet on the off chance that someone there would have an egg or two for sale. And they did.