I love you, North and South Carolina. You too, Georgia.
I'm Just Saying
It has been a long-held common superstition believed by the ancients, as well as a few middle-agers, that solar eclipses such as the one we experienced last week, are also harbingers of doom.
Oh, pffft, I thought.
And then Harvey happened.
When Paul mentioned that he especially wanted to watch the totality of the solar eclipse by driving a few miles out to Travelers Rest, I was a little disappointed because I had elected to stay at home, having signed up with an organization that asked people to file reports of how their animals behaved as the shadow of darkness began to fall.
There’s something going on at Utz and I mean to get to the bottom of it.
Look, I know none of you turn to this column to read anything political, in fact several readers have emailed to tell me they search specifically for this column to get away from politics.
This whole ‘vocal rest’ thing I’m doing to heal my throat and, it is hoped, regain my voice once again in a few weeks, is getting decidedly old.
It’s often said that a song, like a scent, can whisk us away to a particular time or place, and I wouldn’t disagree.
Some couples have ‘their’ song while others wince at the memory of a mangled romance that was connected to ‘Every Breath You Take,’ or ‘Achy Breaky Heart.’
Personally, I’ve always winced at Achy Breaky Heart.
Another summer, another mangy fox.
I’d be willing to bet the conversation I had with a fill-in postmistress at our local post office a few weeks ago is exclusive to our small town.
Believe it or not, I have something in common with the international pop star, Adele.
A silo filled with grammys?’
An 18th century manor house in the West Sussex countryside of England?
Not unless I sell a lot more books.
Damaged vocal chords? You got it.