My Hometown USA

  Signs Along the Way Signs, signs, everywhere a sign… Blocking out the scenery and breaking my mind! There are all kinds of signs along the pathways of life. Signs to direct us, inform us, warn us, tempt us—and occasionally confuse the daylights out of us. You can always tell when political season has arrived because suddenly every patch of grass along the highway sprouts a candidate. Those little signs start littering the roads, bombarding us with names of people running for offices we sometimes didn't even know existed. We pass our candidate and think, Yep, that's my guy. Then we pass his opponent and perhaps entertain the fleeting thought that it wouldn't be terrible if a strong gust of wind carried that particular sign into the next county. You know you've thought about it. But don't give in to the Dark Side. Apparently, there are people who actually go around plucking up their opponent's signs. The people I really feel sorry for during ...

  Somewhere between Mississippi and the Shire If I could visualize an earthly heaven, it might be like the Shire from Lord of the Rings. But, to do that, I would have to move to New Zealand. And those people talk funny over there. Or another paradise would be to live in a mountain cabin in a Thomas Kinkade setting like his paintings. Born in South Mississippi and presently a Huntsville, Alabama resident, I dream of living in a perfect heaven of my own imagination. I guess that is somewhere between Mississippi and the Shire! When I visualize our Heaven on Earth, these are the choice spots I am drawn to. But, back in my daily reality, my address has changed, but my idea of home keeps getting simpler. For my six decades plus on this Earth, I have not settled too far away from the start spot. The Shire is a long way off, and any paradise of mine needs a good porch. A Thomas Kinkade cabin looks amazing, but I also need a Walmart nearby. Yes, apparently I have grown acc...

The National Enquirer Created Influencers  Some days, it feels like anybody with a phone and a confident tone can call themselves a journalist. I grew up in the 70s when supermarket tabloid headlines smacked you in the face at the checkout line of Winn-Dixie. I was a little kid, and even I knew something was off when Elvis turned up alive every other week. The man couldn’t even rest in peace without somebody spotting him on an island in the Pacific. Remember these actual tabloid headlines? “I Had Bigfoot’s Baby!” That one isn't as crazy now due to the fact my husband is 6'5" and has the largest head I’ve ever seen, so my sympathies to that woman.  “Bat Child Escapes!” As for me, Bat child needs to go! I cringe near bats!! “Hillary Clinton Adopts Alien Baby” So, maybe? Aliens are now true and Government has been hiding it...so I believe. “Painting of Elvis Weeps Real Tears” If its in South Mississippi, that's just condensation from the humidity! “Gas-Pa...

  Grandma’s Catalog: Amazon Before Algorithms Previously printed in 2013; updated for republication  First, before we dive into this older column, does anyone even get catalogs anymore? Do our children even know what catalogs are? Printed Amazon pages? So much of my younger self looked forward to the arrival of the JCPenney and Sears catalogs. I never stopped to think about how hard those things must have been on the mail carrier. I can’t imagine how he handled phone-book deliveries! That’s another thing our young’uns don’t know anything about. But there was one particular kind of catalog I used to receive randomly: the catalog geared toward old people. Maybe it is suitable for me now, but 20 or 30 years ago, I was a tad bit offended. I called it Grandma’s Catalog . The merchandise displayed page after page consisted mainly of things an elderly person might purchase—or already own—like girdles, hearing aids and liniments. Catalogs such as Harriet Carter, Walt...

A Deer Killed My Husband  A little shocking, I know. But true story. I love deer. My husband hunts deer. And my first husband was killed by one. If my adult life has had some strange recurring theme, apparently it’s deer. For those who don’t know my story, in 1998 my first husband was involved in a tragic accident with an eight-point buck. He died instantly, leaving me with our two precious boys. You might think after something like that I would never want to see another deer again. Instead, I became the lady constantly posting pictures and videos of them. I even host a page on Facebook, Tracy's Backyardigans. I’m blessed to live where my backyard is regularly visited by does, bucks and the occasional fawn. Sometimes there are so many out there it looks like somebody forgot to tell them this is my property and not a wildlife preserve. When I remarried, having a husband who killed deer rather than being killed by them wasn’t exactly on my list of desired characteristics. But I supp...

  Justice, Mercy and the Christian Woman’s Response This comes from my heart as someone who has no direct connection to Lindsay Clancy, her family, her trial or its non-verdict. I keep coming back to this: As Christians, and particularly as Christian women, we do not have to choose between justice and compassion. Both should be our path. We have reached a toxic empathy state. Three precious children lost their lives. That truth should never get swallowed up by arguments, theories, social-media sleuths and too much speculation. Those children matter. Justice for their deaths matters. I also don’t think we should casually pronounce judgment on the mind and soul of a woman who was clearly broken and struggling with serious mental-health issues before this tragedy ever happened. If Lindsay Clancy knowingly and deliberately murdered her children while understanding exactly what she was doing, then she deserves punishment. Personally, I have a difficult time getting p...