Thanksgiving? Here again? It’s almost stylish these days to say: “Thankful for what?” Well, let’s just look back a bit. One in particular noteworthy year in my life was 1963. Fresh out of college and my military service behind me, things never looked any better.
I was surprised to see that one of my favorite quarterbacks has come down with Covid. I was pretty sure (to myself) last week that I wasn’t going to say anymore about this world-wide pandemic and the number of people who won’t take the shots or wear the masks.
I had a lot of company last weekend. A lot of family from across the plain gathered at my house to celebrate the life of my late sister-inlaw, Freda Harry. Freda passed away recently in a Dallas Care Center and remains will be interred in Allen Cemetery at a later date.
My mother sometimes got onto me for daydreaming so much. I had a teacher or two over at Stonewall that agreed with her too. She always admonished me to quit my daydreaming. As though one could. Like most people I think I was meant to travel. Go places. Someplace where they speak different languages.
Last Saturday morning, some of you may have noticed a few of our locals looking worse than normal. We understand that they had been turned into zombies. Hopefully, whoever cast the spell will bring them back to normal this week.