Unless you have been living under a rock for the past several months, you know the story of the Mayan calendar and how it is said to predict the end of the world as we know it on December 21, 2012. Hence, the countdown has begun.
T-minus one year and counting.
I usually remain silent when I hear someone cluck "I'm all finished with my Christmas shopping."
It especially grates on my nerves when I hear this uttered about September or so. Some who say such seem to do so with an air of "I'm so perfect that I can't imagine doing it any other way."
To my ears, they speak with foreign tongue.
I have a friend who sometimes completes her shopping as early as July. It's amazing that we've had enough in common to remain friends for 35 years.
Every once in a while my son will holler, âDad, why is the Internet so slow? Iâm only about 25 (megabits per second.)â I know thatâs a bunch of hogwash because we have fiber-optic-based Verizon FIOS and we pay a pretty penny for 75/35 (megs per second up and down, respectively) and unless thereâs something really wrong it seldom deviates more that 10 percent â if that.
I'm old enough to remember when a doll was a doll.
That's it. It was a doll and nothing else. Period.
I had lots of dolls that didn't do anything but exist. They had no switches or strings or other devices to make them do things.
To make them wonderful, it took only one thing: Imagination.
And I had plenty of that.
My dolls became stowaways on ships, stars in movies, heiresses to great fortunes, investigators who were at the center of international plots. You name it; I could work them into a plot.
I stood outside in the cold. Waiting. The sun had slipped behind the mountains and the wind blew through the valley, taking with it what little warmth remained. The snow that fell the day before had melted slightly and was now a frozen winter blanket on the concrete outside the theater. It was Christmas and we had come to see the Nativity Story.
Recently, a church in Little Rock has had to reschedule its production
of the children's Christmas play, âMerry Christmas, Charlie Brownâ due
to a bunch of controversy over some elementary school teachers' offer
to take kids to see the play on a school day.
Apparently, some atheists in the community believe the teachers at
this school have stepped over the line separating church and state.
According to a news report, the controversy started when a parent
expressed her concern to the Arkansas Society of Freethinkers, stating
I was raised from the time I was about 11 years of age by my grandparents and back in those days most folks had one television. Ours was in my grandparentâs bedroom and I can tell you that young Dave had very little influence over what we watched in the evenings.
Rules were relaxed in the afternoon after school and Saturdays, of course, but that was it. If I wanted to see TV, we watched what Mamma wanted and that included âPerry Masonâ, âWagon Trainâ, âDragnetâ, âHave Gun will Travelâ and what I considered the MOST boring â âHallmark Hall of Fame.â (grin).
By Ginger English
With the holidays fast approaching, thoughts turn to home. Memories are rekindled of freshly baked yeast rolls, chocolate pie, and a warm crackling fireplace that welcomed family together as laughter filled the house.
A twinge of sadness overwhelms me this holiday season, however, as this will be the first Christmas without any of my siblings. My emotions have been very fragile the past few months, since the unexpected death of my oldest brother, which left me the lone survivor of the Fox family that was started on May 6, 1933.