As the drama of two llamas racing through the streets of an Arizona city captivated TV audiences as scores of folks on social media last week, my brain shot back to my first journalism job out of college and an odd call we heard over the police scanner.
With the recent cabin fever, my wife began combing through seed catalogs in preparation to start a small garden this spring. We fully intend to force our children to grow at least one item they consider edible so they can plant, cultivate and eventually consume the product of their own efforts.
What a week.
Research has uncovered a new treatment for patients with advanced cancer. It improves the social and emotional scores of patients undergoing chemotherapy and radiation treatments even as their functional and physical scores plummeted.
I like to say I have varying interests.
Like you, I have found my mind focused on thoughts of the untimely deaths last week.
A busy week left my notebook full of column ideas, so here’s a little bit of this and that from the files:
David Edmonston was 11 years old in 1954. He had no idea he was going to be a part of a medical breakthrough likely saving thousands of lives and reducing suffering in children for decades to come.
I am not a Democrat. No surprise there for those who know me.
There is a scene in the movie “Selma” when the marchers are heading down Water Avenue in their first attempt to cross the bridge as a symbolic show of unity. Suddenly they pass right by The Selma Times-Journal newspaper building, make a sharp right, then start to cross the bridge.
I threw our Christmas tree out the back door at 9:10 a.m. Christmas morning. I regret I didn’t do it sooner.
I first met Ms. Mary when I was working as a reporter at the LaFollette Press back in my hometown of LaFollette, Tenn.
Have you ever seen the “World’s Dumbest Criminals” TV show?
In the hangover of the holiday season, I had a rough time coming up with one theme or topic for this week’s column.
Doc: Does anyone ever ask for one of those advertised drugs after hearing all of the possible side effects the drugs can cause?
Santa brought me a police scanner for Christmas.
After weeks of anticipation and build up, Christmas has come and gone.
Yesterday morning, Sunday before Christmas, our pastor told us the Christmas story from Luke 2. This is my six plus decades of winters, so I guess I’d heard the story at least 66 times formally in church services.
I searched the Internet to see when he died. He had been a regular performer on the Magnavox record player my Mom played when she was busy in the house. He shared time with Floyd Cramer, Al Hirt, Roy Clark, Van Cliburn, the Chipmunks (at Christmas) and some guy named Liberace.
With this being my last column before Christmas, I'm going to share with you a few of the random things bouncing through my head as the big day draws near:
I am a middle-age man, college educated, pretty darn savvy — if I say so myself — and I believe in Santa Claus.
I have to. I’ve met him.
You've heard it your whole life: No matter what you think, you never truly know someone.
Imagine walking into work and being handed a form to be filled out for your employer. It has nothing to do with your work, by the way.
Last week I shared that, for multiple reasons, I found myself easily falling into the holiday spirit this season.
Like the western heroes of yesteryear, Thanksgiving has ridden off into the sunset, leaving the bloated bodies of its victims lying strewn about in various states of agony.