Columbus loves to tour. In the spring, we have a world-class Pilgrimage. That, of course, is not enough. We have the Fall Tour of Homes, and a tour of Victorian homes connected with the Tennessee Williams Tribute.
Whew, I'm off the road for a while and so glad of it! After four days in Miami and then four in Athens, Ga., two weeks in a row, I'm thankful to wake up at home and have to plan a day here.
Sometimes there is a pain in your heart that subsides over time but never ever goes away. On my walk today I was thinking about Nelle Harper Lee, "To Kill a Mockingbird," and her chosen seclusion for the last 50 years.
Granted, I am not Moses, and these are not exactly Biblical commandments, but when it comes to beauty, I can write the book. To follow are a few well-versed commandments that might not be carved into stone, but if followed, they might bless you with a beautiful summer.
In conversation I was surprised to find how little inconvenience was caused by Wednesday afternoon closings for the local buying public. Not that much, to hear them tell it. Folks just did a little better job of planning. It was a way of life.
By now, everyone has heard the big news: Bristol Palin plans to marry her "baby daddy," Levi Johnston. Well, everyone who cares, anyway.
I will be the first to admit that she was a far cry from Haley Mills in the adored Disney classic, but Lindsay Lohan did steal a few hearts in the remake of "The Parent Trap" movie a few years ago.
Strangely, my personal time gives the illusion that it is expanding. Unfortunately, I am not using this gift in a constructive way.
It is amazing how people and places are so interconnected. Recently I was discussing Salvator Rosa, a father of the romantic and picturesque art movement, with a friend. A few days later the subject of early French exploration of the Tombigbee River Valley arose.
I think the last time I took a cute picture I was wishing for my two front teeth.
Every decade has its iconic images. When thinking of the 1920s, flappers come to mind. The '30s evoke long, gloomy lines snaking out of soup kitchens. Each period has a descriptive name, as well: "The Roaring Twenties" or "The Depression."
The square foot garden is coming along fine. I ate the five strawberries, 15 beans and one squash produced thus far; Sam said he'd stick with Cheerios. Something got to the lettuce before I did, but if zinnias and leafy cosmos were edible the Bardwells would have a cornucopia accented with one humongous sunflower.
Mrs. Crisler said it best when I complimented her on her bright red trench coat: "Honey, the older the barn, the brighter the paint!"
Cathy Pilkinton recently returned from a great week at Orange Beach. After hearing lots of reports about the condition of the beach from friends and on Facebook, Cathy and three of her friends decided to do what they could to support the local economy there.
The machines are rebelling. At work, my computer died a dramatic death. It crackled like a raging fire. Horrible noises broadcast down the hallway, terrifying my coworkers. Then, the screen went black. At home, I got no e-mail for about two months; then 5,000 came at one time.
"Start spr-eading the news. I'm leaving today. I'm gonna be a part of it, New York, New York!"