In Shanksville, Pennsylvania, we heard the incredible sound of chimes in the middle of a lovely pasture. The chimes are inside the Tower of Voices, a visual and audible reminder of Flight 93’s crash in 2018. The structure is unlike any other; air flows through the tower walls to reach the inner chimes.

On the day we visited, we were the only two people for miles around. Just as we walked toward the tower’s base, the wind picked up, and we heard the faint sounds of the 40 individual wind chimes. Suddenly, they all began to chime; we were surrounded by the most peaceful melody I had ever heard. It is incredible. It’s something you will never forget. I am forever thankful we shared the beauty of remarkable surroundings on that hallowed day..

I wrote this before Dolly’s untimely death. While the world mourns her, we who live 25 miles away from her birthplace share her family’s profound loss. We will miss you, dear friend.

Dolly, you are fantastic; you have lived your life perfectly. I’d like to be more like you, for sure. Visiting Dollywood is like looking in a mirror of everything that reflects you. I visited there with my daughter recently, and it was a delight in every way.

I happen to live about 25 miles from where Dolly was born and raised; she is genuinely our local, living heroine. She’s a part of the fabric of Eastern Tennessee, starting her career on a local radio show and achieving global fame and recognition for doing the right thing.

Long before her super-stardom, a local Knoxville grocer named Cas Walker sponsored a radio show; in 1956, at the age of 10, Dolly began her remarkable career in singing and songwriting. She’ll surely never, ever, give up being wonderful.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved Sonic’s cheeseburgers and limeade. Even my wonderful dog Chelsey enjoyed a burger from time to time. I am sad to say I’m done with Sonic forever. Every aspect of my experience today was terrible; I made it through 50% of my cheeseburger and about the same with the limeade before I gave up. Rest in peace, Sonic.

Every day, everyone is subject to images that they may like or dislike. I live in a community that was pivotal to ending the Second World War. There are hundreds of veterans who live here, and believe me, they are outraged over this AI image. It’s far too easy to use AI for questionable placements.

Yesterday I was reading about the movie “Song of the South”. When I was about 4 years old, my mom took my sister and me to the Alhambra Theater when the movie was released. It was an incredible Walt Disney movie, with music, laughter, and memorable characters. It was based on Uncle Remus stories, brought to life. When I was reading the article, I could hear the song “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah” in my head.

Our family lived in San Francisco when we watched the movie. While I loved everything about the movie, I was a city kid grappling with life in fictional Atlanta, Georgia. I couldn’t imagine people living like that; I had no clue where Georgia was. As a young man, I subsequently visited the South countless times and have lived in the area for more than 25 years. It’s rare to find a copy of the film; however, there must be one somewhere for my great-granddaughter and me.

In 1952, PanAm Clipper Endeavor crashed in Puerto Rico, killing 58 people. The remains of the passengers and the frame of the aircraft have lain on the bottom of the ocean, undisturbed. Recently, a photo vessel located the plane on the bottom. When the photos were processed and viewed, it was clear it was the PanAm plane. Apart from the photos that were released to the public, the group that arranged it advised that there won’t be any further exploration or a plan to raise the aircraft or any of the remains of the passengers. That seems to be a fitting resting place.

The title of this post may create some discussion. For the record, I don’t write or use profanity; however, this image was the opening title for a well-known national magazine article. The headline instantly drew the readers into the article. I don’t pretend to categorize who may or may not fit this category; however, I suspect that when readers finish the article that follows, this shoe may fit many citizens.

When I was a boy, my mom did everything possible to help me. She spent hours patiently teaching me to read at an early age. She valiantly tried to ensure I knew the difference between right and wrong. She scribbled pencil notes on the hard-boiled eggs I found in my school lunch bag. I often fought back, thinking she had no idea what she was talking about. After all, she was just a mom who was always mad at me and was unhappy with everything. On or about my 13th birthday, my parents divorced; my sister and my mom went to live with my beloved grandmother.

At that point, in a massive demonstration of stupidity on my part, I went to live with my dad and his hosebag girlfriend, whom he married, and whom I hated. On one epic day, my father was railing at me for some grievance I caused. He was furious and, at one point, screamed at me, “If you don’t like it here, leave.” Within 15 minutes, I did just that, never ever returning to live in his (and hosebag’s) home.

Forward decades later. One evening, I was reading in my living room, and like a bolt of light, I sat up and out loud said to myself, “My mom wasn’t mad at me over the years; she was beaten down by my asshole father”. It was a truth that would make everything clear to me. I instantly prayed to God and to her for forgiveness. Now, every time I think of her, it’s with love and understanding. I think she smiles and hears me.

We all look forward to the 4th of July celebrations, especially this year’s 250th anniversary. We also honor my wonderful granddaughter’s birthday (she is in the photo); she has a daughter nearly two years old, and a baby boy is due in December. It’s amazing to think about the bright future ahead for both children.

Before the advent of the 64-pack of crayons in 1958, we all suffered with the 48-box, brought around in 1949. My sister was older than I, so she often used my colors; she preferred burnt sienna and salmon, while I had to make do with stuff like cobalt blue and Indian red.

We didn’t have a TV set then, so coloring was a great way for our mom to whip out a piece of newspaper for the table, and we’d color away all afternoon. By the time the 64-pack hit stores, my sister had moved on to other pursuits, and I was in heaven to have a box of my own with a built-in sharpener. Cheap entertainment was very importment then.