Special to the Times-Georgian
At last, it is a cool morning. These past weeks, they’ve been few and far between. Lately, most mornings are hot and tired by the time they get halfway done. But at last, a cool morning has finally come, and I am stealing a few minutes from my day to enjoy it.
You’re the first to know about the gift I’m giving my daughter for her 40th birthday. Sommer Joy doesn’t expect this present, which makes it a surprise. I’m sharing my idea and hope you use it. If you do, Sommer will perform a good deed by proxy.
My love for bluegrass music is hereditary. My people on Mama’s side came from the high hills of North Georgia, bordering Tennessee. They were not rich people. They lived in single-room cabins and scratched a poor living out of the rocky soil up there.
My friend Denise came over to help me paint banners. We are hanging them on the fence at the church to alert the general public about a free Tai Chi class that we’re starting there on Sunday mornings.
This morning, as Pixie and I stood in the GreenBelt parking lot, a flock of geese glided in low, over our heads. We heard them “Kronk-kronking” long before we laid eyes on them. They flew in a “v,” as you might expect, and continued their orderly flight until they had passed over the trees a…
The midnight train to Georgia isn’t just a rhythm and blues opus by Gladys Knight and the Pips. I took the train twice. It’s actual, scheduled transportation between Charlotte and Atlanta. At least is was back in the day.
A Carrollton native, Mary L. Brown-Wilson has run a long gamut of some of life’s most unenviable experiences: molestation, spousal abuse, drug addiction, arrest, etc.
On Halloween night, 1948, a resident on Griffin Drive in Carrollton was startled by a loud banging on his door. It was no trick-or-treater; it was a real-life horror story.
Several times a month I need to drive to the city, along with hundreds and hundreds of my west Georgia friends and neighbors. You’ll see us all there on I-20, rumbling along like a herd of wildebeests across the Serengeti. For the most part, we see the same things every morning — Arbor Place…
I tend to be hard on my hands, so Mama gave me a pair of gardening gloves. Although I always try to be thankful when anybody gives me anything, I have to confess, I wasn’t quite sure about those gloves. They were well made from sturdy cotton, to be sure, but they had flowers on them. Pink ones.
“In like a lion … out like a lamb.” Well, March didn’t disappoint. Monday morning at about 5, the wind came roaring in. I’d have to say it wasn’t exactly lion-like. As the west- driving rain hammered our windows and falling branches thudded on the roof, it was more like “In like Godzilla.”
A Villa Rica nurse who leads the first COVID-19 unit at Emory Hospital got a unique opportunity last month to sing the national anthem at an Atlanta Hawks basketball game.
I was taking advantage of this beautiful weather (warm temps and low humidity) to do some brush-dragging behind the house. The morning sun had my back limbered up and I was making good progress. But then I saw a snake stick.
I lack statistics, but I think a passel of people wished they lived in the South just so they can talk like us. Our sayings and quirky phrases make conversations more fun. My recent column about things folks say in the South made readers happy as that dead pig in the sun I wrote about.
Lately, Johnny and I have been down for the count (both of us got COVID). Thankfully it was a mild case. We stayed home and rested, treating our fatigued immunities with lots of warm liquids and Airbourne vitamin supplements.