Opinions

There is something about being there. About experiencing the atmosphere, first-hand, and being able to say you were there.

Memories can be wonderful places to visit when they are pleasant and filled with peace and joy. On the other hand, not all of our experiences have been pleasant. Negative thoughts can be more like a haunted house on a dark and stormy night. We all have our own unique collections of thoughts and emotions, which leave us with the task of figuring out a way to deal with them. As most of us know, there are positive ways and negative ways to handle our past experiences, and we can look around and see that some have learned to control their feelings while others allow their dark thoughts to control them. Who can help? Jesus desires that we give Him our hearts and minds, allowing Him to guide and heal us.

It was worse than imagined. After the floodwaters swept away life at night. Looking at what was left of a vehicle totaled when an ice-covered road led to an abrupt halt by a tree. Or realizing that someone you trusted was sincerely wrong. Sometimes, it was worse than you remembered. Life throws curveballs when least expected – and both good and bad people are at bat. Covid-19 featured many unintended pitfalls and scores of decisions that proved unneeded and caused great harm. My rearview mirror recalls places travelled to, and directions received. Methinks the GPS navigator needed a better map and was too confident to pull over and admit it missed a turn.

For those of you who are not fashion-savvy, a skort is a cute word for a cute skirt that also has cute shorts underneath. Golfers, in particular, wear skorts.

Quit surfing the internet and get to work. Imagine the hours employers pay to staff who self-entertain rather than what they should be doing, all the while playing as if they are actually working. Ghostwork is anything but work. It comes natural for those who anonymously pretend to be someone they’re not online. Meanwhile, Tik Tokers and gamers are on the clock. Politicians excel at pretending, and it’s become an art. Joe Biden was a modern marvel at portraying a president, beginning with his campaign rallies. His crowds were near non-existent once the number of media was subtracted from the count. After months of primetime in his basement, he still drew a record 81 million voters, topping Donald Trump, who attracted packed stadiums and auditoriums nationwide, yet somehow lost.

I’m sure professionals who have a name for every personality disorder upon this earth would have a field day with all of mine. Most days, however, I find myself rather normal. (And that would trouble those professionals.) Most days, I find myself rather capable. (And that would certainly alarm them.) Most days, I find myself worth the trouble. (And I know there’s a name for that...) Having birthed two children and more than 5000 newspaper columns, I feel my life’s resume speaks for itself. Nothing about my journey on this earth is perfect but I haven’t blown up a random government building, defrauded the IRS or deserted my children. It could be worse.

Over my three score and ten, there have been numerous times when the American president desired to address the nation in a speech; just over 100x since George Washington gave his first of eight back in 1790. F.D. Roosevelt did it on 10 occasions Dwight Eisenhower stepped to the mic seven times, the last delivery occurred in 1960. Ronald Regan matched him between 1982 and 1988, as did Bill Clinton, his finale in 2000. George W. Bush managed seven spiels, as well, though many slept through them. Then it was Barack Obama, whose seven addresses were better-crafted than carried out. Messages by Joe Biden totaled just three, his last went remarkably well.

For some reason, the idea of flying has strangely passed me by. Oh, it’s not that this intrepid reporter hasn’t flown enough times to shake the wits out of me, because being strapped-in over 75 times has yet to do the trick.

I wonder how hot it is on Mercury in the summertime. Mercury, as you know, is the closest planet to the sun and therefore the hottest. The Deep South, as you know, comes right between it and Venus giving us the number two status in the solar system for heat production. Or so it seems, in the summertime. I remember the summers of my childhood 40 years ago. The heat was different in the 1960s--it was everywhere. You had little or no air conditioning with which to compare the outside air, so you merely looked for the coolest place outside. I can tell you where it was: under the mimosa trees in the morning, in the back bedroom which was shaded by magnolias at noon, in the cool spray of sprinklers in mid-afternoon and under the sheltered carport before suppertime.

When I look back to the Fourth of July during my earliest years, it wasn’t a party. There were no computer-generated displays of fireworks.