A couple of weeks back, CNN news carried a story about a man who found an estimated $45,000 hidden in the attic of a house he had recently purchased. The bills were wrapped in bundles of $100.
There was another story at the same time about the finding of a treasure trove of gold coins at a building site in Albany, Australia. The coins were dated 1800 and one of them was appraised at $16,000 Australian dollars.
Every year on certain holidays, one of the networks, I believe the SciFi network, runs a marathon of ‚ÄúThe Twilight Zone‚ÄĚ episodes. Back-to-back, hour after hour the shows continue with limited commercial breaks. By the time the fifth or sixth hour rolls around, any enthusiasm the viewer may have had tends to fall by the wayside. The novelty of the programming has faded. The anticipation that was once strong dwindles to a basic irritation. The buzz turns into a pesky gnat we swipe our hands at when we hear it humming around our ears.
Nicknames are as much a part of Southern life as biscuits and gravy.
I ought to know. I‚Äôve lived in the South my entire life and I‚Äôve been the recipient of several of these after-birth monikers. The most frequent, of course, being ‚ÄúRed.‚ÄĚ That‚Äôs a given for any redhead.
Jokes about the flaming tresses started early in life and still go on, even though it takes a little loving care (pun intended) to keep them that way today.
Later on, being compared to the most famous of redheads, and coupled by the fact that my middle name is Lou, I wore the ‚ÄúLucy‚ÄĚ tag for a time.