When I wrote last Sunday’s column I left out two early clubs in Denison and one of the many across Red River. John Crawford reminded me of one and I later remembered the other two.
Subscribe to Local Commentary RSS feed
Take a moment and step into my time machine, dear reader, and let us travel back to Babylon, 1772 BC. Here on the banks of the Euphrates River, we’ll first make a quick stop at the temple of Esagila to tip our caps at the shrine of Nabu. I’m told he’s the Assyrian god of writing, and certain columnists could use all the help they can get.
I have a close friend of mine that just got into a little bit of trouble with the law. This guy has the biggest heart, he is humble, but from time to time I guess he drinks a little. To make a long story short, he made a couple of bad decisions, and decided to drive while under the influence, and now he’s going to jail.
There’s an old political truism, used semi-exclusively by whichever party finds itself currently in the minority, that serves as three simple words of bitter reminder: “Elections have consequences.”
My wife Paula and I met at Lincoln Christian University back in 1963. She was a freshman and I was an upperclassman. We dated seven times her first year there, but I thought we weren’t “hitting it off.” Seven dates and she never let me kiss her.
Often in life it is easy to become complacent with the way things are going. I find that it happens most often, not when things are hard, but when they’re fairly easy. Not when you are on a mountain top or in a valley, but when you’re walking along the plain and have convinced yourself that you have a good handle on your life and say, “Fine,” when people ask you how you are.
Today is a big day for my family, but Sunday’s always are when your dad is a pastor. I suppose, “was” a pastor is more technically correct, but then, that gets to the reason today is special. Today marks the last day behind the pulpit for my dear ol’ pops, as he’s retiring from his church in small-town Colorado after more than 20 years.
Isn’t it amazing how welcome you can feel when you step into a restaurant that really has a good business? There’s someone there to greet you, get you to a table, unless there’s a waiting line, see that everyone is seated, and then someone else just as friendly to take your order and serve your food. I appreciate places like that, especially if it turns out they have good food, too.
A few weeks ago, a few hundred filthy-rich people from around the world gathered in London for the inaugural Conference on Inclusive Capitalism, which billed itself as seeking to “to define concrete steps that all of modern capitalism’s stakeholders can take to renew trust and deliver better social and economic outcomes for all.”