Sayonara, Y’all
Wheels up at 6:10 a.m., November 18–Nashville to Chicago to Tokyo. There will be lots to tell, I’m sure. Check back after Thanksgiving!

When Good Intentions Go Bad
Yesterday my co-worker and I were standing on the busy street corner near our office. We were waiting for the light to change and gabbing about the office. There was a thin woman with a scarf tied around her head standing there as well. “Excuse me,” she said quietly. “Do you know where this is,” she said and showed me a small map. “It’s on Murphy Avenue.” Fortunately for this woman, she had just asked “She Who Knows Everything” (also known as me) for directions. “Oh,” I confidently answered. “You mean Murphy Road.” “I guess so,” the woman said. “I’m

Thank Goodness Customs Confiscated the Rest of It.
Husband travels a lot in course of his business. Last week he came home after 2 1/2 weeks in China. As is his custom, he brought back some local delicacies. I’ve listed them here in descending order of oddness. This packet contained several kinds of tea including one for energy and one for clear thinking.  This isn’t food…it’s playing cards…cards t

Big Time College Football, the Culture of Thugs and My Plan for Fixing the Whole Stinking Mess
Anyone who’s ever read Here in Franklin knows that I am an unabashed fan of  the University of Tennessee athletics. Volleyball, basketball, tiddly-winks–if the Vols are playing, I’m rooting for them.  But of all the sports played in Knoxville, there’s one that is king of the hill and that’s football. Millions and millions of dollars are made at EVERY HOME GAME. Millions more everytime they’re on tv. Millions more in concessions, donations and loose change found under the seat cushions in the luxury boxes. Not a dime of that money goes to the players. Sure, they’re on scholarship and they’re getting a free education. Bu

Wherein I Am the Turnip
I don’t know who first coined the expression “you can’t get blood out of a turnip,” but I suspect that that person had veins just like mine. Veins the size of the filament in a lightbulb. Veins the size of a single strand of hair. Veins that make a cat’s whisker look like thick and robust in comparison. In short, veins with as much blood in them as, well, your average turnip. Last week I had my annual visit to the oncologist. If you read last year’s account, you know that my yearly bloodletting is not pleasant