| OF PRINCIPALITIES AND POWERS - Bush Reports Contacts with Abramoff
By Tony Russell
Washington, Feb. 16 - Celebrity lobbyist Jack Abramoff met President Bush in almost a dozen different settings over the past five years and was invited to the President's Crawford, Texas, ranch in the summer of 2003, the President told a reporter in an e-mail last month.
Bush's claim directly contradicts assertions by the Abramoff's aides that the lobbyist doesn't know the President and has no recollection of ever having met him, assertions made as Abramoff attempts to distance himself from the numerous scandals and controversies surrounding the administration.
In mentioning the invitation to Texas in 2003, Bush was apparently referring to a private barbecue he hosted for his biggest fundraisers at the Broken Spoke Ranch, down the road from the president's rustic compound near Crawford, on Aug. 9 of that year. About 350 Republicans who had raised at least $50,000 each for Bush were invited, including Abramoff. ... Read the rest and more from Tony under "Opinions & Comments"
PETTY PONDERING - What Kind of Tree?
By Teresa Starcher
I wrote the following poem shortly after 9-11.
Many scenes brought to us by the media horrified us all. As the shock of that awful day began to wane one image in particular seemingly haunted me. A tree, yes it sounds absurd, a common everyday tree.
I couldn't even begin to surmise what kind of tree, although it wasn't large, it was so strewn with debris as to be anyone's guess. Yet, to my mind it became a symbol of mankind's inhumanity.
The Bible itself makes free with the symbolical use of trees: olive trees in Zech 4 with Rev 11:4., a king's vision of a tree as large as the earth in Dan 4:11; figurative use of cedars and oaks in Isa 2:13, the wild olive tree and the cultivated one of Rom 11:17-24., Jesus instructed us to "learn the lesson of the fig tree" Matt 24:32. The most well known use of the tree is the allegory of the two trees in the Garden of Eden, Gen 2:9. These should be considered along with the "Tree of Life" in Rev 22:2. ... Read the rest and more fron Teresa under "Columns"
CAWTHON'S CATHARSIS - Granny Pratlow, High on Drugs, Releases Hostage
By Jack Cawthon
A few weeks ago, I reported that Granny Pratlow, leader of the Gray Bandoliers, a militant splinter group disassociated from AARP, had taken Bobby Gene Bubba, state delegate, hostage to a remote location on Little Wheeze Crick. She demanded for his release an explanation of the new Medicare drug benefits.
Now, you are up to date on the breaking news, and unlike those other pesky news media sources I haven't bugged you with frequent bulletins when nothing much is happening, but which is unthinkable to TV reporters. And as I am the only news reporter in the region, as others don't seem able to find the hot spots, I haven't been in much of a hurry to report the rest of the story.
The only news worth reporting is that Granny released Bobby Gene after Sheriff Y. Bob Hickey began negotiations. He felt it necessary, as no one seems to understand the new Medicare benefits, including the government. As a long-time friend of Granny's, he felt Bobby Gene might be in for a long detainment, if he didn't meet with her. The reason he hesitated was that no one wanted Bobby Gene returned, including his wife and six kids, but especially his colleagues in the state legislature. In fact, political leaders insisted that Hickey keep Bobby Gene away until the session ended, should it ever.
In my interview with Sheriff Hickey, he told me he found the couple seemingly unharmed, and, amazingly, Bobby Gene didn't want rescued. He told the sheriff that as nothing ever happened in Charleston as exciting as being spirited away by Granny that he would just as soon stay where he was, and with that he winked at Hickey as if two men could well understand the situation. ... Read the rest and more from Jack under "Columns"
THE FROG POND - "And the award goes to ... "
By Suzanne Mazer Stewart
This time of year there are all the awards shows going on - Golden Globes, Oscars, Miss America, American Idol - that tell us just what and who are the "best" of last year or will reign supreme in the new one.
I've often wondered just what it takes to win some of those accolades, because the only one that I qualify for, the prestigious "Mother of the Year", is so far out of my reach we'll just call it my "Impossible Dream."
Now, I don't consider myself a bad parent by any means. I do, however, know my limitations. There's only so much whining and bickering one person can stand. Add to that the stress and strains of trying to juggle dinner, laundry, errands, overdue library books, dentist appointments and occasionally finding time to reacquaint myself with my husband, and let's just say it's a miracle I'm still as sane as I am.
For some reason, though, I have this group of lady friends who seem to think I always "have it all together." All I can say is that I hope, for their sakes, they either read this with an open mind, or that they don't read this at all. The shock might be too much for them to handle. ... Read the rest and more from Suzanne under "Columns"
RHUBARB RAMBLINGS - A Smartie Sister
By Linda Flowers
I remember well my first encounter with Smarties. Up until that time I'd never eaten sour candy. Actually, I'd never eaten much candy at all.
I was three or four years old. Wanda, AKA Aunt Sissy, worked at Cutlip's Department Store in Webster Springs. I was Wanda's "mini me". She and I had forged an uncommon bond when she was the ripe old age of fourteen and I was the ripe old age of brand new to the world. She was, is, has always been, my heroine. My role model.
Wanda brought Smarties home from work and that night, gave me my first roll. I was entranced by the pretty pastel colors of the pills and the fruity, tart taste. I tried to wheedle more Smarties right away. I was hooked, man!
Wanda assured me that if I was good, (I was always good), I could have a roll every night at bedtime. So, you see, it's Wanda's fault that I'm addicted to sour candy. There are worse addictions. For instance, chocolate. I don't much care for chocolate, which is fattening. Sour candy is non-fattening.
Other popular Wanda memories include her taking me for walks when I was little and letting me drive her brand new 1974 Pontiac Firebird. Those were the days! Ah, I was s-o-o-o cool crusing with the windows down and Andy Kim crooning at us from the eight track player. I'd look for people from school and honk the horn until they noticed me and waved. "Yeah, me and my sister was crusing yesterday in the 'Bird,' Yeah, yeah ain't it cool?" ... Read the rest and more from Linda under "Columns"
WHERE THE HEART IS - Tranquility
By Ann Richards
Only a dim outline of the mountain tops could be seen at 6:30 this morning. The trees in the valley framed them. Rain was falling. Dusk to dawn lights twinkled between the swaying trees.
Slowly, daylight brought focus, fog drifted over the mountains, then leaving, gave way to this new day.
Quietly, the rain turned to soft snow and the mountains disappeared as everything turned white. This snowfall is a gift of indescribable beauty.
It's Saturday. Nobody is going to work, chasing the mammon god. There's no school bus to gather children. There's no hurry anywhere.
The car sitting beside the cabin below has been there since yesterday morning, having arrived sometime during the night. There has been no movement down there. Someone is in retreat from the world and it's noise. ... Read the rest and more from Ann under "Columns"
WHERE THE HEART IS - "Gifts of the Heart"
By Alice Hickman
While searching through my hometown newspaper tonight, I discovered Christmas presents neatly tucked among the pages. I claimed a few for myself.
The first gift came from reporter Lisa Minney as she recaptured and shared her memories about Christmas trees, decorations and icicles. I was gently pulled back into my own past and my enchantment with decorating the tree. I had wondered if I was the only lone soul in the world who knew the satisfaction of hanging icicles one at a time, as if putting loving finishing strokes onto a sacred painting. Then after Christmas removing them likewise, to put away for another year and another tree.
Unlike Lisa, I have no treasure of the old, wide heavy icicles from a previous era, but I remember them on the tree at my grandmother's house.
Many of my traditions and special memories have centered around the Christmas tree. Going into the field or forest in falling snow to cut the tree. Big round plastic balls and tin bells that were my families' heirloom decorations. However, the tree was not fully dressed without the finishing touch of icicles and the star on top. I was the "self-appointed" official Christmas tree inspector. (I have now relinquished that title to those more qualified. My grandchildren! They are not melancholy perfectionists) ... Read the rest and more from Alice under "Columns"
| 
