Life Aromatic
It happened in the grocery store. I was busy considering which was the best bottled barbecue sauce (I settled on Sweet Baby Ray's), when someone passed behind me leaving the very strong aroma of Ben-Gay ointment. Without a moment's hesitation my brain conjured the image of my great-grandmother, "Mother Pete." So hard and fast was the memory, that I caught myself turning to see if the person passing was, in fact, her. Of course, it couldn't have been, as she passed away years ago. But it was amazing how my mind was instantly flooded with all the fun and quirky things I remembered about her...amazing that it was brought on by a single whiff of a product that I don't really even remember her...
When the Pinnacle Becomes the Pit
Remember sweet little Lindsay Lohan? I remember when she first came on the scene as "twins" in the Disney hit remake of The Parent Trap. I was blown away by her acting skills for such a young girl, and instantly fell in love with her fresh, freckled face and girl-next-door quality. I also remember thinking to myself, "I hope she can handle Hollywood. She's just a baby." This photo was just taken yesterday, in court. The downward spiral of Lindsay's life started from a place high above the level ground of the average person. She had skyrocketed to personal acclaim due, certainly, to her fine acting talent, but also to the exploitation of her parents. Succumbing to the lure of financial...
The Sounds of Silence
I occasionally have an "oldies" Pandora station playing while I work. Yesterday was such a day, and the familiar strains of a Simon and Garfunkel classic began to fill the room. Hello darkness, my old friend...I've come to talk with you again... I stopped typing and just listened, allowing myself to sink into the song as the verses continued. In restless dreams I walked alone Narrow streets of cobblestone 'Neath the halo of a street lamp I turned my collar to the cold and damp When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light That split the night And touched the sound of silence I felt myself swept up into these "restless dreams," following the man along the cobblestone walkway. And...
Mum’s the Word
If you're not from the South, you may not understand the phenomenon that is the "Homecoming Mum." To you, mums are a colorful, flowering shrub that you put out next to your pumpkins and gourds for tasteful fall decor. However, in the South the mum has been associated with Homecoming since its beginnings, which are widely attributed to the University of Missouri's alumni celebration in 1911. It began as a chrysanthemum in a corsage, with school-colored ribbons around it, for mothers and girlfriends of the football players, and looked something like this: As the popularity of the tradition grew, so did the mums, as longer ribbons were added, with trinkets and glitter. This example is...
From Inside the Pressure Cooker
I really don't know who it belonged to. It could've been my grandmother's, my aunt's, or even my mom's. I truly don't remember the where of it, as much as I remember the way it looked. It seemed like it would be more at home in the laboratory of some mad scientist, than in an average kitchen. And the sounds it made...the steam. I remember always being a little concerned that no one was watching it close enough, and that maybe it would defy all those little knobs and just blow through the ceiling one day! Pressure cookers. They might be the place from which emerges tasty jams or delicious meats, but doesn't life sometimes feel like you're living inside of one? Pressure to succeed,...