Sunday, as you had better know by now, is Mother's Day. Although motherhood has been celebrated throughout the world in some form or fashion since the beginning of humanity, the American version of the holiday is a relatively recent development.
In Leroy Brooks' version of the history of Juneteenth, in June of 1865, two months after the end of the Civil War, Union forces notified a group of slaves in Texas that they were free men, women and children. Upon learning this, the slaves in question went before the town council to secure funding for a spontaneous celebration.
Elections are like muscles: They're not much use unless you exercise them. Today across the Golden Triangle, voters have the opportunity to exercise one of our most fundamental rights as Americans.
If there is ever a contest for words that substitute for thought, "diversity" should be recognized as the undisputed world champion.
"Bam," the screen door slammed. "Bam," it slammed again. It's a new sound coming from the back porch. I love the sound of a screen door slamming. I love the way a screen door can make you feel like your outside even if you're inside.
OK, it was tacky to notice -- but I did. At a gospel singing to benefit efforts to get more nutritious food into Oxford schools, a couple of the choir members were -- and I have no room to talk -- "over-nutreated."
Tuesday afternoon James Towery stood in a cluster of willow trees near the edge of Proctor Lake.
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