Maybe I am a little different; a little odd.  That's fine.  I feel like an old person trapped in a young person’s body and I always have.  I think growing up on southern back porches may be a potent ingredient in the making of my particular brand of peculiar.  Listening eagerly and endlessly to my grandmother tell stories of the depression would have done that to anyone.  I will never forget her stories of bringing in glass bottles of milk from her front step on cold mornings. The image of ...

Continue reading ...