Arkansas doesn’t have a pro team, but it feels like we do. The University of Arkansas Razorbacks are our state’s passion. In sports bars and restaurants, alike, fans show support by unabashedly “calling the Hogs” and then high fiving each other in solidarity.
I realize that the thought of getting older is not usually an item on one’s gratitude list. But it is on mine, and not because I am a cancer survivor, or anything. It is much simpler than that.
It has been almost three months since FAB expanded to Miami and many of my readers have asked for an update. I am happy to report that the Miami team met their sales goal in both September and October and this November looks to be the same.
There is no scientific proof that war is ingrained in human nature, according to a study by Brian Ferguson, professor of anthropology at Rutgers University-Newark.
But I don’t need scientific proof to know that every Fall, as deer season approaches, my husband and late father would get an itch. A drive to get outdoors, feel the change of season, and shoot something.
I’ve been a longtime proponent of a global economy. But after the glaring absence of China from last week’s world Climate Summit, my opinion may be changing.
My little cancer baby on the end of my nose surprised everyone but me. I was awake through the whole MOH out-patient surgery. With my nose numb, the cancer surgeon took a dime size divot off of the tip and carried his new extraction into the other room to observe under a microscope.
You may think this is weird, or awkward, but it wasn’t. This summer my husband Grady, son Matt, and his bride, Sara, vacationed in Colorado, where we stayed with my ex-husband, Ron, the father of my only girl-child, Meghan.
When traveling, I like to catch up on movies in my hotel room. The Ruth Bader Ginsberg movie, On the Basis of Sex, is a walk down history lane and should possibly be required-watching for all Americans. It is easy, when reciting a gratitude list, to omit and take for granted today’s equality for both men and women. It was a mere 40 years ago that men were not recognized in a court of law as care givers and therefore disqualified from tax relief and other compensations like women. Likewise, women weren’t recognized as head of household, thus unable to apply for credit cards or a mortgage without a husband’s signature.
It’s not the expensive, black jacket that I bought but, rather, the on-sale, red leather, fringed jacket that I didn’t buy that preys on my subconscious of regret.
When I was young, I envied those girls who were content to stay home on a weekend night and read or wash and set their hair. I, on the other hand, couldn’t stand to miss out on a single party.


