"There are known knowns. These are things we know that we know. There are known unknowns. That is to say, there are things that we know we donâ€™t know. But there are also unknown unknowns. These are things we donâ€™t know we donâ€™t know.â€ť â€” Donald Rumsfeld
All three of the scenarios so confusingly described by former Secretary of State Rumsfeld were in play before my eyes July 12.
The place â€” the court of Judge Gary Arnold.
The reason â€” a motion to quash, or set aside, a requirement to provide information regarding anonymous bloggers.
The passing of American icon Andy Griffith has caused a major shift in attention to Mayberry, the mythical town where Sheriff Andy Taylor rarely had to do any sheriffing, but dispensed lots of homespun wisdom that served a higher calling.
Everybody would have liked to live in Mayberry.
That's not surprising because it was a place where although everybody knew everybody else's business â€” not always desirable â€” more importantly, it was a place where people took care of each other. And love was the common denominator that held them together.
If there's anything I hate to spend money on, it's an appliance.
Just think about it. This is not an unreasonable position to take.
Once an appliance gets to your house, no one but family members and pets will ever see it again, save for an occasional perusal from a repairman in the event of a malfunction.
I mean, it's not like you might have company for dinner and you would take time to fancy up the washing machine in case the guests should peek into the utility room.
An appliance is just there.
You can't drive it.
You can't wear it.
You can't eat it.
You can't drink it.
Subtlety is an art form that, when placed in the hands of the skilled, can deliver a message so seemingly insignificant that it is absorbed without conscious resistance. A well-worded sermon plants a seed that provides strength for the future when comfort is needed. A word of praise from a teacher will silently build confidence for that moment when everything may change for the student.
I've never been to a live wrestling match, but I have seen the sport demonstrated on TV.
Pardon me. I'm told by male members of the Courier staff that I mispronounced/misspelled the event. Real fans, they tell me, call the sport "wrassling."
A thousand pardons.
The attention to wrestling/wrassling came into newsroom discussion because of a planned event next week in Benton. A number of wrestling/wrassling stars will be performing here in conjunction with Benton's first Freedom Fest.
When I was in third grade, Miss Erma Trice assigned us to write a paper on our ambitions.
At that juncture my heroine was Esther Williams, the movie star/Olympic swimmer that thrilled me with the water ballets I watched on the big screen at James Theatre in Cotton Plant.
There wasn't a doubt in my mind that I could be the next in line to claim her spot in stardom.
In the paper for Miss Erma, I wrote about my desire to "grow up and be just like Esther Williams."
I told about this dream with much flourish because I truly believed it.
Watching the newscasts of Queen Elizabeth's Diamond Jubilee celebration, I'm once again reminded of the similarities between the British monarch and my mother.
Though I could address several factors to illustrate the comparison, the most obvious one is the queen's purse.
Nay. Make that her pocketbook.
Queen Elizabeth always carries a pocketbook. It may be of natural straw, patent leather, black velvet, satin brocade or the finest lace, but the style never changes. It's a double-strapped handbag that opens like a book and closes with a clasp in the center.
Identifying a musical work has been a fun thing in our family for as long as I have memory.
We'll hear something on the radio or on a TV show and I can't rest until I recall the song title.
My spouse frequently said I should have gotten on the old TV show, "Name That Tune." He thought I could have won the top prize.
It's true that most of the time I can spit out the name immediately, but when I can't, it's painful.
As a lifelong grammarian, I frequently shudder at what has happened to ordinary conversation.
I grew up around two cousins and an aunt who constantly corrected any of my deviations from proper speech.
Instead of resenting this, I actually appreciated it. Their well-meaning corrections helped me to speak and write correctly most of the time.
Words are my life. This has been so for as long as I have memory. But there are times when words are inadequate to express what one feels.
I'm living in such a time.
As most people know, on May 4 I suffered the greatest loss I have known. This was the final day of life for my husband of 36, nearly 37, years.
Before this happened, I thought I understood grief. I've buried both my parents and other loved ones and said the final goodbyes to friends who were as close as family. But losing a spouse? It's an experience unlike any other.
Only those who have been there know what I mean.