When the lights went out, I was in the bathroom sorting through the various medications I take each day - little round pills that can roll under the claw-footed bathtub if they spill, small ovals that bounce goodness-knows-where if they're dropped. One false move and I would knock the whole kit-and-boodle all over the floor and spend the next hour trying to finding them ... when the power came back on.
I have a note taped up over my computer that reads: "Be prepared for synchronicity in your life. It grew out of some unnamed force somewhere in the universe. Acknowledge it when it appears. Be grateful and give thanks, for if you think deeply, you will find it is not random at all."
Confession time: These days I read my horoscope, printed on page 2 of this paper. It's all nonsense, of course, but sometimes it can be downright spooky.
No joke. There really is a Flat Earth Society. Conspiracy theorists are everywhere these days, but I really did think the idea of a flat earth died out years ago, especially after our astronauts took those beautiful photos of our planet from their space capsules. But then the flat earth people say that too is a conspiracy, a hoax by NASA.
At one time or another we've all received a survey from an organization or a political campaign.
What's the difference between a discussion and a debate?
It started with a quote my brother found in a book he was reading, "The Sense of an Ending" by Julian Barnes: "History, that certainty produced at the point where the imperfections of memory meet the inadequacies of documentation."
The idea of God is endlessly fascinating, but I am not a "believer." In fact, I do not believe "believers." We all doubt, but doubt scares many individuals to a point where they willingly surrender their critical faculties and accept whatever they're taught.
Morphine and heroin are basically the same substance. Both are derived from the opium poppy.
As of this writing, six world powers have reached an agreement with Iran that would prevent that country from developing nuclear weapons.
I love the 23rd Psalm. It resonates with believers and doubters alike. Hardly a day goes by that I don't meditate on its words, for surely I have been led beside the still waters and made to lie down in green pastures.
You've heard of the "pain factor." It's a political term, the pressure a relatively small but impassioned group of individuals can inflict on a politician, especially around election time.
When National Public Radio does a series on life after death, you know the question of what happens to us after we die is more than just a religious matter.
The man in the checkout line bought a six-pack of beer, a gallon jug of cheap red wine and a frozen eggplant Parmesan casserole. An interesting combination, I thought. Apparently the young fellow bagging the items recognized the man, who had done some tutoring at the local high school.
Again ... another mass shooting. Again ... the shooter is killed. We will never know exactly why he did this awful thing. Apparently he was mentally ill, but that alone is not an explanation.
The Public Service Commission meets today for a semiannual review. I'll be there. I'm anxious to see what the commissioners have to say about cost overruns at Plant Vogtle, Georgia Power's nuclear facility near Waynesboro.
I spent a good bit of last week trying to pull together a column on the riots in Ferguson, Mo.
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