There are certain foods that I like year-round, but they don't come to mind until special seasons of the year.
One of these is candied yams. I could enjoy these any day of any week of any month of any year, but unless something brings them to mind â€” or really to eye â€” I just don't think about them.
While sweet potatoes themselves have more or less come into their own in recent years, I have to be reminded that they're around â€” though truth be told, I never met a sweet potato I didn't like.
Recently, as I was fishing around in a dresser drawer, I came across an old watch that had belonged to my daughter a lot of years ago. This was a Cinderella souvenir timepiece and featured the beautiful Disney character under the crystal.
Judging from the number of Cinderella wannabes I saw recently at Downtown Benton's Spook City, it appears that Cinderella still is a popular literary/movie heroine for little girls.
Earlier in the week Courier publisher Steve Boggs gave his take on Daylight Saving Time â€” or rather on the adjustments one must make to accommodate the semi-annual change from Daylight Saving Time back to Central Standard Time.
Steve's chief concern was resetting all the clocks that govern his life.
Remember the time when Halloween got a bad name? Religious right groups and various others protested the holiday as evil, and trick-or-treating for a lot of youngsters was verboten.
Witch costumes in particular were viewed as symbols of demonic worship.
Even when it wasn't a popular position to take, I argued in favor of the celebration and said folks needed to lighten up and let the kids enjoy a harmless activity.
There's nothing any cuter than a little girl all donned out in witch's garb, particularly the classic pointed hat.
It's been a long, long time since I've worn maternity apparel â€• and obviously I won't be doing a repeat of this style in my future â€• but I do remember those days.
Yet as a woman who likes fashion and loves babies, I have taken an interest in recent trends in clothing styles for expectant mothers.
In the fashion world, like everywhere else, changes are inevitable. Some are good; some are not.
A man walks into a donut shop with an envelope under his arm, beckoned by the glow of the â€śhot nowâ€ť neon sign in the window.
â€śHey, whatcha got there, fella?â€ť asks a patron enjoying his morning cup of signature house decaf, a flavorful Central and South America blend with all of the taste, but none of the jitters.
â€śSay, friend. What I have here will change your life! Guaranteed to make you a household name in no time flat.â€ť said the man as he patted the brown manila package with the palm of his free hand.
When I was a little boy, my sister had a black cat. We werenâ€™t a superstitious family at all, so the color was of no consequence to my parents, my brother, sister and me. It was a normal cat. It loved attention, up until the point when it was through with you and walked away.
The best that I recall, it was a happy cat as well. I donâ€™t remember if it was male or female, but the gender is of no particular importance here.
Children are fascinated with water â€” especially little boys. At least that was true for the two I raised.
Their sister had no interest in H2O except as a beverage or something to swim in. But Big Brother and Little Brother were different stories altogether, and the little one's antics made him somewhat of a legend in his own time.
Paul, the senior member of the trio, coined a new word for water. I just don't know how to write it.
It was a nasty day weather-wise and I wasn't sure I wanted to spend a couple of hours cooped up in a movie theater, even for a sure-fire entertainment hit like "The Wizard of Oz." It was showing at a Central Arkansas theater as part of a special anniversary showing and the invitation was tempting.
I had been in and out of the drizzle throughout the day and looked like something the cat had dragged in and rejected. Humid, rainy weather and redheads are not a good mix.
A trip to an old cemetery can provide some delightful commentary â€” some intentional, some obviously not.
Much humor is found in the messages left by past generations, which most planned as serious memorials, but instead provide priceless tributes years later.
Epitaphs, once the norm, are practically non-existent now. I find them fascinating.
My late spouse once told me that his choice for the eulogy on my final resting place should be: "She was an enigma, but I loved her."