Recent Stories & Articles Soup kitchen11/14/2009 7:02:00 PM Our world is so very full of need. It is overwhelming, trying to understand the vastness of poverty and suffering. Humans everywhere (and voiceless animals) are hurting. Sometimes scarcities are created by war, or natural disaster, or the unwise actions of a government. Misery may be the direct result of choices made by those most in distress. However, the causes hardly matter when the results are tragic and immense. Fear of flying swine11/7/2009 10:25:00 PM Once upon a time, when the world was a simpler place, there were only four seasons. In those days, it was easy to understand spring and summer, winter and autumn. The seasons were sort of color-coded and clearly-themed. Back-to-school ads and photographic calendars were always embellished with falling leaves in tones of gold and rust and fiery reds. No matter where you lived, winter meant Currier and Ives-inspired snow scenes. Death by poverty10/31/2009 10:01:00 PM These days it seems that our world is filled with pain. Psychic pain is intangible and private. Who can really understand the agonizing loss of someone dearly loved? American sons and daughters are suffering, bloodily, in Afghanistan and Iraq. However, we do not need to look across the globe to find hearts shattered in ways that will never heal. (Where is Kaila Morris?) Finally, autumn10/24/2009 8:21:00 PM It seemed that the season would never change. The city tried to hurry summer along by decorating downtown with our traditional fall display of scarecrows resting on bales of hay. I’m sure those straw men were grateful for the floppy fedoras protecting them from the brutal sun. Ode10/18/2009 12:07:00 AM “Mississippi is like this,
a scorched dark country
where silence solidifies
like clay in a kiln.”
Kendall Dunkelberg
These days, poems swirl around me. They are caught up in the wind, whipping around my ears and ankles. I hear them whispering in the walls and scampering, like squirrels, across the roof. Recording them, however, is as difficult as capturing clouds. Invisible in daylight10/10/2009 7:57:00 PM Elizabeth Smart is back in the news. You will remember her as the fragile blonde teen, stolen from her bed in 2002 and held captive for nine months. Today she is a composed and articulate 21-year-old testifying against her kidnapper. Scholars, ever young10/3/2009 7:36:00 PM They say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. “They,” however, are so often wrong. I truly believe we only get smarter with age. Time improves many things; wine, some cheeses, and (in my opinion) brain power. 'Oh, Lady Be Good'9/26/2009 9:26:00 PM In many ways, houses are like women. Their names are usually feminine, inspired by flowers, or influenced by languages more romantic than ours. Even those that bear a family surname sound more genteel when the word “manor” or “mansion” is added. September songs9/19/2009 9:52:00 PM The doldrums of summer will soon dissipate, perhaps not in temperature ... yet. But, certainly the early rush of autumn activities is here to shake up our languor. Time and Tennessee9/12/2009 8:29:00 PM This week, Columbus reached out to characters, hysterical and frightened, chic and social, both on-stage and off. The Tennessee Williams Tribute and Tour of Victorian Homes presented a wealth of plays, lectures, tours, luncheons and elegant evenings. A postcard from Portland8/29/2009 8:17:00 PM Perfect Portland. That’s what my family calls it, this beautiful jewel of a city on the edge of our continent.
I am here visiting my family. My sister, Victoria, and her husband, Rich, were transferred here. In the term “upwardly mobile,” the emphasis is on “mobile.” Mother followed a few years later to be with her only grandchild, Gillian. My mother’s generation reproduced. Flocked8/22/2009 10:48:00 PM Monday evening my “barkler” alarm went off, full force. This signal can mean that some strange person has dared to walk in front of our house, or that one of the neighbor’s cats is sauntering across the porch, clearly invading their doggy territory. Ice cream and art8/15/2009 6:22:00 PM August is the cruelest month. (My apologies to that other Eliot, the one deficient in double letters.)
August is my most-hated month. It is the time when summer drags on, like an unwanted house guest. Not much to do about it, just suffer and dream of cooler months. A day in court8/8/2009 9:23:00 PM Goodness, they say, is its own reward. That’s not enough for those uber-wealthy folks who like to slap their names on the wings of hospitals or endow charities. But, certainly, most of us consider ourselves “good,” and take some comfort in the idea that we are decent people. No dead authors8/1/2009 10:36:00 PM In Mississippi talent flourishes like kudzu. Maybe this is because of the lush fertility of the land. Or perhaps it is a result of generations of oral tradition. Whether the artist’s flair is visual, or musical, or poetic, the results are almost always narrative. On some level, every one of us is a writer, spinning tales with pen, or brush, or song. Tribute7/25/2009 8:57:00 PM Denizens of large cities love to boast about the cultural events, performances and limitless entertainment available to them. In some ways they are right. However, it seems to me that very few take advantage of this wealth of artistic opportunity. Most people just stay home, in front of the “boob tube,” in a sort of semi-catatonic state. Haunted by past lives7/18/2009 “It’s no good trying to keep up old friendships. It’s painful for both sides.”
W. Somerset Maugham
July and August are tedious months. The weeks between holidays seem endless. It will be even longer before the air cools and thins. These days, breathing can feel like drowning. Love thy neighbor7/11/2009 Our backyard garden is thriving, in spite of the triple-digit heat index. The bounty of plump cucumbers is just beginning to dwindle. The last few appeared curled into fanciful flourishes, fat feather-ish shapes, looking like something that would adorn the hat of a woodland gnome. Masks7/5/2009 It is said that by age 50 we have the face we deserve. For most of us that is a reflection of life and experience.
At middle age, we can polish that face with a smile or, for women, a bit of lipstick and blush. However, except for extreme plastic surgery (and excluding the picture of Dorian Gray), we are pretty much forced to wear the results of the life we lived. Events and emotions of our past are etched around our eyes and impossible to hide with anything offered at a cosmetic counter. Adele Elliot: Team colors6/27/2009 Chris is fascinated with the College Baseball World Series. He leans forward in his “papa bear” chair yelling at the TV. Our two dog-daughters look confused at the barrage of noise gushing from their usually calm daddy. Of course, they cannot understand that the Tigers are at bat and doing very well. The LSU players look quite sharp in the deep purples and sunny yellow of their uniforms. Who’s your daddy?6/21/2009 Extreme fatherhood seems to be in style these days. The ideal family of 2.5 children is as passé as 33 RPM records and platform shoes on men. If you are to believe reality television, families of eight to 18 children are the only ones of any interest. A Columbus almanac6/13/2009 Summer has arrived with a vengeance. The air hangs heavily. Chris goes into the backyard to gather beans and cucumbers, and returns exhausted, breathless. A voluminous humidity clings to our skin like a fog, seeping deeply into each pore. And, like a cranky house guest, she stays much too long. We know it will be many months before this visitor packs her bags and moves on. Bugged6/5/2009 These early summer evenings are punctuated with the small, bright flashes of fireflies. From my porch we exclaim at every sighting. “There’s one! I just saw one!” You’d think there was a reward for the most observed in a single night. Pork, parties and a portrait5/30/2009 Columbus seems encircled by celebration these days. Weddings, graduations, major events of all sorts call for an acknowledgement and a toast before moving on to the next chapter, the next goal.
It’s always fun to help friends honor a joyful moment. Too often we meet at funerals or in times of tragedy. Rehabilitation5/22/2009 The lyrics from a classic Linda Ronstadt song keep rolling through my head. “Heart like a wheel, when you bend it you can’t mend it.” Pain management5/15/2009 I’ve thought a lot about pain this week. Monday started with a trip to the dentist. A tooth extraction left one more hole in my head and a deep gouge in my finances. Thank goodness for Harriet Gilliam at Medical Arts Pharmacy, who kindly led me to the affordable, generic versions of my prescriptions and to a steady seat. Oh, Mama!5/9/2009 Today we honor mothers of all sorts, and not a moment too soon. I’m not sure I could stomach another sticky-sweet ad featuring pink, cubic zirconia, hearts and corny text. Does anyone’s mother ever look like those models wearing inexpensive jewelry, and in rapture over a bottle of drug-store fragrance? Planting seeds5/1/2009 Our perfect spring is quickly melting into the sauna that is summer. It won’t be long before Chris and I will be forced to abandon our late-afternoon alfresco chats with the neighbors, cultivating friendships. Welcome Center4/24/2009 In the South we are known for our warmth and hospitality. It doesn’t matter if someone asks for directions, or advice on where to get great barbecue, or just says “hi” as they walk through our lovely streets. In this part of the world, and especially in Columbus, we are eager to respond. In fact, we sometimes wish there were more opportunities to illustrate why we are called “The Friendly City.” Captains courageous4/17/2009 There are days when the news seems surreal. So often we wonder if we really understood what we heard or read. “Pirates Off the Coast of Somalia.” “Airliner Lands on the Hudson River.” A personal pilgrimage4/10/2009 I have had the great good fortune of loving two cities that other people find fascinating. Both Columbus and New Orleans are beautiful, and rich with history. They are much desired destinations for those who live in generic places where life has a sameness and the houses are unnamed. Tripping4/4/2009 They say you can’t go home again. This is probably quite true. But, every once in a while, Chris and I make a journey that is lovely and bittersweet. Love and smoke3/28/2009 We fall in love for mysterious reasons. I fell I love with my husband because he said kind things about his boss, and because my knees got weak when he hugged me. That love had nothing to do with wealth or status. It was an intuitive knowing that this man was something special. I proposed to Chris four months after we met and have never regretted one second of our marriage. Take me to your readers3/20/2009 There was a time when almost every science fiction film featured a scene where the spacemen landed and said, “Take me to your leader.” Ides of March3/14/2009 Mother Nature seems to be playing some April Fool’s pranks on Columbus. The gags are all the more unexpected, since this is still only mid-March. Goodbye to the Queen of the Universe3/7/2009 Chris and I have embraced our adopted home of Columbus. We have wonderful friends, are avid volunteers, and have immersed ourselves in all the wonderful cultural events that our new home city and state have to offer. Still, people often ask if we miss New Orleans. Some days, that answer is easier than on other days. A nation of what?2/27/2009 We all experience moments of excruciating embarrassment. Sometimes, comments so mortifying fall out of our mouths that there is no way to save face. We pray that our tongue would suddenly grow a rewind button, or for Harry Potter’s “Cloak of Invisibility,” or that anyone listening has suddenly been struck deaf. None of these things are very likely. Stupid comments are so common there is even a shorthand term for it, “Open mouth, insert foot.” Slumdogs and fat cats2/21/2009 Oscar hype is a very big deal in many places. Not so much in Columbus, I suppose, since most of the Academy Award nominated films are not shown locally. We’ll probably catch them, after the fact, on HBO. Soul food2/14/2009 Sometimes my columns read like a catalog of events in The Golden Triangle. These are the you-had-to-be-there sort of occasions that mean little to those who did not attend. Maybe I sound like I’m bragging. But, a girl just can’t help it. Model rollover2/7/2009 Mother Hubbard’s cupboard1/31/2009 January1/25/2009 January has been relentless in her chilling attack. Ice crystals sparkle across my car’s windshield creating delicate marbled paths, splintering onto the hood. The plastic scraper we purchased is worthless against frost that seems to have been adhered with a magical fixative. Search our archives for older stories by Adele Elliott
