I am so happy to welcome a new member to my WRCB Channel 3 family. Meteorologist Cedric Haynes was born and raised in Dalton, Georgia, and is a proud graduate of Dalton High School, class of 2004. His career path has taken him to Louisiana, Texas, Iowa, South Carolina, and now Chattanooga. This young man is truly living his dream.
CBS Sunday Morning recently aired a story about Mount Airy, North Carolina, the inspiration for Mayberry of “Andy Griffith Show” fame. Ted Koppel interviewed the townsfolk, who reflected on Mount Airy’s sixty-year run as America’s idyllic depiction of life in the slow lane.
Note: the following is FAKE NEWS. It is a satire, a parody. No one over 12 will be allowed to read this column unless accompanied by someone with a sense of humor. Any resemblance to any current politician is purely intentional.
I was told that beginning in early childhood, most Texans are taught to “Remember the Alamo,” learn the lyrics to “Deep in the heart of Texas,” and lingo such as “hook em horns” and “guns up.”
There are a lot of wild creatures that I don’t mind dealing with. If the rats stay out of the house, I say let them go about their business. I found a snake next to the house on Saturday, and it wasn’t poisonous so I let it be.
I’ll just tell you. I’ve written and erased and rewritten this column several times now. I’m sitting in the floor with my computer on top of a rubber container, while Mama watches the kids in the living room. They are making a lot of noise, but that isn’t the thing that causes me trouble in finding the right words to say.
The events of Sept. 11, 2001 are so fresh in my mind. It’s hard to believe that today’s high school seniors were not even born when terrorists took so many lives and changed our world forever.
Yesterday I read a very good guest article on Al.com written by Dr. Peter Pappas, who is the William E. Dismukes Professor of Medicine in the University of Alabama at Birmingham’s Division of Infectious Diseases. Pappas wrote a letter, as convincing as any other I’ve read, about how K-12 schools ought to require universal masking.
One year ago this week, I wrote a column called “Four Years Notice.” It was an open letter to Democratic and Republican party leaders, encouraging them to find fresh candidates for the 2024 presidential election.
The ability to express our opinion is a valuable right. In this country, we are free to make our feelings known without government reprisal, according to the Constitution.
I’ll never forget when Michael came home from work earlier this year with what we call the coronavirus. I, who was well into a year-long panic over the virus, immediately rushed to the doctor’s office for my own swab. It was negative, but the physician I saw that day said he would call me in a prescription anyway.
During the feminist movement of the 1960’s, women began to enter the workforce in great numbers. Up until that time, most women stayed at home to raise their children. Only a few had previously sought jobs outside the home.
I just dropped the boy off for his first day of “school.” Though he will only be gone three days out of the week, it still marks the beginning of the end of his time at home all day with me and I don’t like it much.
It happened in a doctor’s office. It was during one of those awkward moments, when a medical assistant and I were awaiting the arrival of a doctor. We were running out of small talk about the weather, COVID, and lunch plans.
As a kid, I would read my favorite newspaper columnists. I loved looking up the big words used by George Will. Lewis Grizzard’s humor was solid gold, every single time. I enjoyed the show business name-dropping of Earl Wilson. I even liked the gossipy “scoops” uncovered by government watchdo…
Despite the perception by folks in other parts of the country, most of us in Alabama can write and read. But actions by our friends and neighbors are starting to reflect badly on us.
I first met Halie Forstner back when she drove to the beauty shop each week, grabbed a Wendy’s junior cheeseburger after church on Sunday, exercised each morning, lived alone, walked without any assistance, and cleaned her own house.
I mentioned last week that we were taking the boy to Chuck E. Cheese for his birthday. I have to admit it was just as much an idea for my own enjoyment as his. I only got to go there once as a child that I can recall. I was more of a Mr. Gatti’s patron. They aren’t very different places. You go, you eat pizza, you play games.
Each week the Associated Press publishes “Not Real News: A Look at What Didn’t Happen Last Week.” It is a collection of fake news, most of which has been shared online. The stories usually include quotes taken out of context, photoshopped images, and doctored audio.
I have declared this The Summer of Joy, even though I have no legal authority to do so. I am merely comparing this summer to the last one. We are smiling again. We are taking vacations, and we are going to church, ball games, and concerts. Optimism is in full bloom.
My Channel 3 weather friend Paul Barys hears it everywhere he goes: in the grocery store, in the mall, on vacation, even when he goes to the mailbox. “Paul said it would be like this!”
My mom recently found a Western Flyer bicycle at a thrift store. She wanted to use it as a yard decoration and put flowers in the basket, but upon seeing it I felt that I had to intervene. I love riding a bike, and it’s been a while since I have.
Oh, how our lives have changed during the past thirty years. We’ve had great medical advances. Once-fatal diseases are being cured, and hope exists where once there was none.
I was in line at an all-too familiar spot, a fast food place, and some customers began grumbling. “The service sure is slow around here,” one said at a volume level that carried beyond the counter.
“It was like someone flipped a switch.” That was my son in Washington, DC, reporting on what he saw last weekend as he walked the streets. “One day, everyone was wearing a mask, with no eye contact or small talk, and the next day, it was like everything was back to normal.”
We went to the Catfish Festival on Saturday. As I pushed little sister’s stroller, with Mama and the Boy walking behind us, I looked around and laughed to myself. Maybe it wasn’t so much a laugh as it was a sigh. This time last year I wouldn’t have been caught dead there. All those people. There wouldn’t have been enough hand sanitizer or face masks in the world.