Opinion
I had a column all prepared for this week, but then Jim Hamilton announced he was retiring. Oh how I (and all you folks) will miss his columns. His are not just words placed together, they are …
It was in the early 1990s, at a quarterly meeting of the Ozarks Writers League at Branson that I was approached by regional publisher W.C. Jameson about publishing a collection of my newspaper columns.
I was introduced to senior discounts when my mother retired. Momma would get so happy when we would pick up a quick bite to eat from McDonald’s. She would seem to stand straighter and, with a big smile, say, “I want a senior orange drink.”
I suppose this column should be about New Year’s resolutions. I just can’t stomach that this year as I watch the temperature go from 75 to 32 degrees this week. But if you are still making resolutions, good luck with that.
In December 2001, when I was pregnant with our first son, I carried around a tangled mess of emotions — excitement, gratitude, hope, fear, joy, anxiety, and a certainty that the smell or sight of cooked chicken would make me gag. (Thankfully, the chicken thing was a temporary aversion, which is why I now make almost daily trips to Chick-fil-A.) But what I remember most about that pregnancy and the subsequent pregnancies with his younger brother and sister is that I loved walking or waddling around, knowing I was part of a miracle.
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