Tomorrow is Tax Day. Have you filled out your forms for Uncle Sam yet? Ours were done and refunds delivered and already spent before the pollen descended on North Carolina with yellow force.
I like antique cars. The kind that have “Hoover for President” license plates (not that anyone wants another Hooverville).
They just look cool. We don’t really need power windows and expensive one-piece bumpers that stopped being able to withstand a bumping long ago.
Cars used to be about getting from point A to point B relatively comfortably. And, if you could afford it, with some style. Like cars from the first decades of the 20th century, before they became floating, climate-controlled couches removed from the road experience.
For my son’s first Easter, now five years ago, he had an adorable little suit to wear to church.
But we didn’t go that year.
Instead, Easter weekend was spent in a new parent panic, first at a doctor’s office, then at a hospital having him X-rayed. As anyone who has raised a baby knows, a high fever in a little one, especially the first time, is rather worrisome.
At the Richmond City Jail in Virginia, a nonprofit group for girls and a sheriff came together to do right by the city’s daughters. Multiple media outlets in Virginia have covered the recent father-daughter dance at the jail, and it’s worth noting here, too. The dads at the dance were nonviolent offenders. The daughters were simply daughters who wanted to spend time with their fathers.
An event like this sparks several questions. Why did the fathers do something to get locked up? Why didn’t they put their children first? Why are the mothers having children with these men? Why, why, why. Judge, admonish, put down. All those questions do nothing to help the girls who are already living their lives with incarcerated dads.
Today’s column is a variety pack – something for each of you. First, a follow up to my January column on “Illuminating Durham Corners,” about places of significance – for whatever reason – in Durham. I received a letter from Anne Hamilton Daye, who told me about the corner she finds very interesting and beautiful. Believe it or not, she says, it is Mutual Heights at the corner of Fayetteville Street and Cornwallis Road. The streets meet again elsewhere in Durham, but the corner she’s talking about is across from Beechwood Cemetery.
What’s your allegiance? We like to form ourselves into little groups, we Americans, we Southerners, we North Carolinians. Durhamites. Chapel Hillians. Hillsboroughers. Raleighites. Triangles. Piedmontians. Whatever. We enjoy being in groups. Divide, divide, divide. County, city, town, neighborhood, street. University. OK, that one’s warranted. Regular readers know I’m a Hokie, and that’s true even when the basketball team is, well, underperforming, to put it nicely in this month of March Madness.
I wonder if there’s much to the notion of your life flashing before your eyes?
Not just the moments permanently planted there, like childbirth and weddings and graduations and even funerals, but all those other moments we wish we could bottle.
I’m mad at Congress right now. I know, I know. Who isn’t?
Specifically, because of the current partisan gridlock and threat of economic catastrophe, the Wings Over Wayne Air Show has been cancelled. Set for May 18-19 at Seymour Johnson Air Force Base here in North Cackalacky, it’s a reasonable drive to go see military aviation on display. But there won’t be any flying into the great blue yonder because of Congress.
This air show, like another at Joint Base Langley in the Norfolk, Va., area, has been cancelled because of our federal government’s inability to compromise. Can I get a harrumph?
What do you tell your kids about your job? It’s interesting to break it down to children in terms of what they’d want to know. It makes you look at your work in a different way.
Just as Martin Luther King Jr. Day and Black History Month come around every winter, so do they flush out racism in our midst. Since this nation’s first African-American president was elected four years ago, the phrase “post-racial” has been batted around as a way of talking about progress. It is usually swatted down swiftly from those who know there is nothing “post” about it for some Americans.
“As also with y’all.” That’s the bumper sticker I saw on my morning commute Friday. One of the best I’ve seen, ever, and want for myself, along with “I Brake for Historical Markers.”
Lucky number seven. That’s where I am in years spent at The Herald-Sun, typing away every weekday and some weekends. I’ve gotten to know Durham in a way that a lot people don’t, meeting people and going places I likely would not in a different profession. Most people operate in circles of work, home, faith, friends, food and shopping. A map of a reporter’s daily doings would show straight lines to and fro, making up a new dozen-pointed star each week. We cover a lot of ground. You could drop me anywhere in the city and I could find my way out by following my nose. Now, I couldn’t tell you which street to turn left on, then right on, then right again. But I could tell you which building (which used to be a different building) I take a left near.
There’s a phrase college football fans tend to say when the season’s not going so well. “It’s a rebuilding year.” We say this so often with a smile, knowing that we’re just making an excuse, giving the team a pass because we’re all-weather fans.
I saw Saint Nicholas’ workshop last week. Elves dressed in green were busy sorting and arranging toys for girls and boys.
In the toy aisle among the holiday shoppers in Durham, I heard a little kid say something with a really nasty tone of voice. The kid’s phrasing also conveyed that this was something repeated from an adult, and not a happy one.