The other night I was enjoying a dish of peach cobbler that was sprinkled with some fresh blueberries. In the midst of this delightful summer dessert, it suddenly hit me that blueberries are relatively new in my life.
Blueberries now are a favorite fruit at our house, yet thereâs irony there. As a kid, I donât ever remember eating them.
Fruits â fresh and canned â were always part of our diet. Regardless of the season.
My mother saw to it that we ate healthy foods, which, of course, meant the inclusion of fruit.
I have worked at several places over my 53 years. Even though they were in different industries, they all had one thing in common. I didnât see the warts until after I started working there. All of my jobs had them. But let me make one thing very clear from the start: I came to this job knowing full well what I was getting into. Warts and all. And I am loving it so get used to it. Iâm not going anywhere.
Urban legends have long been a favorite study of mine. Before the advent of the computer, there were fewer such stories circulating, but they were much more likely to be accepted for truth. Now most people know about the Snopes website and so they are less likely to believe such stories.
You would think that as a student of folklore and someone who knows a great deal about urban legends, I would recognized them for what they are, but I donât. Why? Because they seem believable and they are always passed on in good faith. People want to warn others of some danger, be it large or small.
Since the city council recently authorized the use of fireworks within the city limits after a ban on them for several years, I am expecting to have three nervous cats in my lap for most of the Fourth of July celebration.
They are not as upset by fireworks as our dog Miss Brown used to be. One Fourth we got her some tranquilizers. These were ineffective in calming her fears, and they made her so drunk she kept falling down the stairs.
Thereâs never been a time when there wasnât a container of Yarnellâs ice cream in my refrigerator. Make that a container of Yarnellâs VANILLA ice cream.
In recent times itâs been Yarnellâs âhomemade vanilla,â but in earlier years it was just plain vanilla or maybe angel food vanilla. And sometimes its companion has been Yarnellâs black walnut, which my spouse says is the best black walnut cream around since itâs made with walnuts from the Arkansas Ozarks.
In some households, the âstaplesâ are sugar and flour and such. At ours, itâs been the Yarnellâs.
Would it surprise you to know that I am a year older than Superman? I am. Superman was created in 1932 and I was born in 1931. In our household back then, there were not many books, but my father read me the daily comics in the newspaper.
I liked the way he read them over the way my mother read them. He always put in the âBams!â â Ahas!â and âPows!â She skipped over all of those, and, I suspected, some of the other stuff too, but I couldnât prove it because I couldnât read yet.
On a recent day off, I spent a great deal of time on the couch in front of the TV. My main purpose was to watch old movies, but I found myself channel-surfing at times when I couldnât find a film to hold my attention.
During that brief escape from reality, I couldnât help but notice the number of commercials touting beauty products â mainly for women, but the fellows werenât left out entirely.
I wish I had taken an actual count within a specific time frame, but didnât. Suffice it to say there were many.
History has proven that any member of the Davis clan who goes on vacation is destined to become involved in a mishap of one sort or another.
The curse is well known and can be documented well into previous decades. Regular readers of this column may remember the âBig Birdâ incident.
In certain parts of Eastern Asia â particularly in the Chinese, Japanese and Vietnamese cultures â a sneeze without an obvious cause at one time was perceived as a sign that someone was talking about the sneezer at that very moment.
If this is the case in international circles and it transcends to American shores, I would have to believe that a lot of people are talking about me because Iâm a big sneezer â big both in volume and repetitiveness.
My sneezes can turn heads. Literally.
I was having a conversation with a co-worker the other day and we both came to the same conclusion: The older you get, the faster time goes by. Perhaps it is because of the repetitive nature of the passing of days. We become accustomed to the speed at which time passes and become a bit inattentive to dates on a calendar until we say âWow. Half the year has passed already!â