I was driving down the highway during my lunch break the week before Christmas, on my way to get my allergy shots. I was in the “fast lane,” and I believe any highway patrolman would have found my speed to have been appropriately within the bounds of the law, neither too fast nor too slow.

I was talking recently to a lady. In the course of our conversation, she told me that she has two children, one a post high school graduate, the other an early elementary student. I remarked that there was a lot of years between her two children’s ages. She told me that she lost a lot of weight before conceiving her second child. We determined then and there that Big Macs were a good form of birth control.

It is rarely that anything seems to surprise me. I suppose that is common as one grows older, but occasionally I am reminded that there might be a few surprises yet to come.
I went to the credit union to pay my car payment earlier in the week. I walked in just barely before the lobby closed. I walked up to the only available teller, a friendly young lady who grew prettier in my estimation throughout our brief encounter.

While scrolling my Facebook account, I came across a picture of The Lone Ranger. The thought came to mind that even he would not have been politically correct at this time in history—like a raccoon, his mask didn’t cover either his mouth or nose!
Neither would lots of car models from the 1980s and 1990s now be fashionable. How long has it been since you’ve seen a wood-paneled station wagon? Or a car with automatic seat belts?

Each fall since 2012, with the exception of 2013, I have taught an adjunct course for Walters State Community College. The first year I taught a writing course, but the Tennessee Board of Regents changed the criteria, and I am no longer qualified to teach writing at the community college level. It seems almost ironic that I could write a dissertation for a doctoral program, the equivalent of a publishable research book, and not be qualified to teach writing to a college freshman.

As I write, it is the peak for fall colors in Union County and the surrounding area. This sun-filled weekend has in particular been glorious. Driving to church with the light filtering through the changing colors was like being surrounded by natural stained glass fashioned by God himself.

A former teacher recently gave me several boxes of books and the promise of more to come. Last Sunday was my fifth Sunday to volunteer at the Union County Historical and Genealogical Museum. I was alone for those four hours (it was no surprise to me that I had no visitors on Halloween Sunday), so I used the opportunity to become familiar with my newly acquired old books.

I had lunch with some dear friends today. One was Debbie Gillenwater, currently co-director of the Union County Family Resource Center. Many Union Countians will remember Ms. Debbie as a wonderful first grade teacher at Maynardville Elementary School.

It was the summer of 1983. I had just graduated from Union County High School and was waiting to begin attending Lincoln Memorial University in the fall. I knew that I would be living on campus and that I would have a roommate. The college sent me his name, but nothing else. Of course I was somewhat apprehensive about having to live in such close quarters with a total stranger. My concern was greatly alleviated when my future roommate wrote me a letter more or less introducing himself to me. What a difference a letter can make!

Nothing in this world lasts forever. I offer a personal example. In 2009 I had my basement waterproofed. The sump pump came with a lifetime guarantee of free replacement if it malfunctioned. Just this past Thursday the dreaded malfunction came after twelve years. The basement again flooded. The company is going to honor its warranty and replace the pump free of charge, though I will have to pay the service fee, of course.