I got out the china for Thanksgiving dinner. The special occasion, been passed down in the family china. The china that takes up kitchen cabinet space, staking its hereditary territory. Be careful, I warned others right before I almost broke a dish myself.
I blame it on the Metamucil ad in my Facebook feed.
The fiber supplement showed up the other day, right before Thanksgiving, and I got to thinking about how the advertisements that appear in the feed are most likely inspired by links and the content of status updates shared by users.
Here they are, the 11 easy steps to the No. 1 most popular recipe for the four days of Thanksgiving and the year’s worth of recriminations afterward.
I’m sure you’ve heard about big box stores opening on Thanksgiving Day rather than waiting for the dark early morning hours of Black Friday to open their doors to shoppers. Maybe you plan to take advantage of the door busting deals after dinner, or maybe you’d rather sit on your couch. Or maybe, just maybe, you’re among those who are encouraging other shoppers to stay home so store workers could stay home, too. But they didn’t make the call, their employers did. And the market.
Jesse McBane and Patricia Mann saw a future together.
In 1971, he was an N.C. State student and she attended nursing school at Watts Hospital – now part of the N.C. School of Science and Mathematics campus within blocks of my home. He was 19; she was 20. They planned to marry.
On the way to work this past week, I flipped through the radio stations and heard a Christmas song. It turns out one station has already gone all-Christmas, all-day. Fine with me! I’ll wait until I’m eating Thanksgiving leftovers before decorating, but bring on the music. Holiday parades are getting ready to roll, too.
My friend Colin – another adoptive parent - asked over lunch last week whether I felt like a dad now.
“Has it really sunk in?”
This is what I don’t understand. How come a week ago I spent all day carefully blowing, raking, lugging and artistically arranging the leaves on my front lawn and now I have to do it all over again?
Clora Smith’s brother Sgt. Willie Edward Alston was killed in action in the Vietnam War on May 15, 1968. He was 25 years old and with the 4th Battalion, 47th Infantry Regiment of the 9th Infantry Division. They grew up in Durham and he is buried in Beechwood Cemetery.
I’m trying to lose at least a turkey by Thanksgiving.
There’s no round-about way of saying this: I hate roundabouts. I hate them even when they use aliases and are called traffic circles.
Yes, I know that the National Bureau of Annoying Street Plans has found that installing roundabouts at intersections results in 4.3 percent fewer accidents than caused by movie theater popcorn machines. And yes, I know that roundabouts are designed to speed up traffic, reduce gas consumption, alleviate congestion and solve the debt crisis.
Three North Carolinians have mounted a campaign to bring photographs to the names of those men from our state who were killed in Vietnam. They’ve asked newspapers to help get word out about the photographs they’re seeking, and I’m much obliged.
For a while, I thought good sense might prevail.
I’ve got too much on my plate, I thought. I’m busy with the new baby, expanded job responsibilities and catching up (at last!) on the final season of “Breaking Bad.”
How could I possibly have time to churn out 50,000 words of a novel in November?
Medications like this may increase the risk of watching mindless reality television shows or excessive texting in children, teenagers, young adults, older adults, really old adults or insurance salesmen.
Like my family, you probably went to the N.C. State Fair this past week, too, each person zeroing in on something. I wanted to go to the rabbit barn. My husband wanted to try the fried Oreos. My son wanted to go right to the Wiggle Wurm (that’s how the ride is spelled).