So, in the continuing saga of my 932-mile auto trip from Gatlinburg to Flower Mound, Texas, after I survived the gale-force winds and torrential downpour in West Tennessee between Jackson and Memphis, I made my way into Arkansas, and to my second-day destination in Arkadelphia.
So, it's almost summer. Sure it has been hot, but, if you want to get technical, it's not summer yet.
I'm going to share something private. Normally I only talk about this with close friends and family members.
Quite a number of years ago, my friends Von Ogle and wife Margie sold their motel, and Margie said she wanted to get away for a long trip. My wife Jean ran into Margie at Gatlinburg’s Anna Porter Library, where Margie had been looking through some travel books. She told Jean she had decided on a trip to Spain.
Last October, about a week or so before I moved to East Tennessee, I began writing a song that had a rare quality: I enjoyed it from the moment I first felt the inspiration.
A few days ago I was telling The Mountain Press Community News Editor Kenneth Burns about some of my earlier columns in the 1970s and 1980s before my current series began in the late 1990s. (Yes, I’ll have to admit, I was a mere babe when I began.) One series was titled “Stories from the Smokies.”
Once again, a killing spree has spurred some nationwide soul searching on the topic of mental illness. This time we might not be asking the right questions.
The week before Memorial Day weekend, we received a letter from a company we do business with. It said that no matter how we spend Memorial Day weekend, we should take a moment to remember the fallen.
Sunday, June 1, 2014, is National Cancer Survivors Day. A recent notice in The Mountain Press encouraged everyone to be aware of this important day, and to go beyond the awareness by encouraging survivors and showing appreciation to these warriors who have battled the dreaded disease. Those of us who know such survivors and have knowledge of what they have gone through and continue to go through can certainly understand why they deserve encouragement and a show of appreciation.
Don Meyer died of cancer last Sunday. One of college basketball’s most successful coaches, he notched 923 wins over the course of his long career. He was 69.
Having served as master of ceremonies for the Gatlinburg Veterans Day program for many years, I have been interested in seeing the proliferation of TV commercials and programs for disabled, handicapped or paralyzed veterans recently. They have led to my paying attention to notes and articles regarding veterans as I have been sorting through files in a continuing process of eliminating some of the many items I have collected since my school days. (Just ask Jean about file cabinets, attics, storages and warehouses.)
When catkins cover our driveway and pollen layers turn every car yellow, spring has sprung, finally. It's time to bring out the higher SPF sunblock and the bug spray.
My younger brother, Alex, is graduating from high school next week, and I’ve already given him a hard time for being a little too sentimental about it, but the more I think about it, I’m starting to get emotional.
I’m writing this column in Malvern, Ark., sitting in a guest room at a Holiday Inn Express, in which, according to all of those TV commercials, I should grow much smarter. I’m on the first leg of a car trip of 932 miles, give or take a few miles (according to the number of rest stops I have to make along the way).
A little spring cleaning can be good for the soul. Sometimes you have to get rid of things that are holding you back.
I’ve always liked quotes.
On a recent walk through my neighborhood, I noticed the trash in the ditches. I have been aware of it for some time, but on this particular day it stood out, a bit too ugly amid the beauty of spring nature.
Last week I found out that an old friend of mine from high school passed away. After graduating in 2007, we lost contact with each other, except for the occasional back-and-forth on Facebook.
Raise your hand if you live in Sevier County, but have been treated by at least one Knoxville doctor in his Sevierville office. I have been seen by three such doctors. Not sure how Obamacare will affect their satellite offices here in our county, but, hopefully, they can continue to stay open. It really helps not to have to drive to Knoxville for doctors’ visits.
Another year, another coaching search. That’s life as a Vol fan these days. At the risk of going against the national trend and some of our outspoken fans, it might be time to be a little more patient.
Following last week’s column in which I commented on the “Noah” film loosely based on the biblical account in Genesis, I received a couple of emails asking if I had seen the recent “Son of God” film and what I thought of it. I did see it, and I reacted both positively and negatively to it.
The deadline came and went last week, and I'm pretty sure the world didn't end.
A few nights ago Jean and I watched a TV movie based on an Agatha Christie novel. “Based” is the key word here and is what today’s column is all about. But first, let me explain to those who may not be familiar with Agatha Christie (1890-1976) that she was a British writer of detective novels, short stories and stage plays.
The University of Tennessee at Knoxville may be orange, but it has shades of violin brown, too.
At a recent press event for the opening of Dollywood, I got a unique opportunity to meet a legend when I took part in a roundtable interview with Dolly Parton.