Three years ago, I stopped by to visit a friend who I hadn’t seen in quite some time. I should have called first, but my visit was impromptu. I’m so glad Ann was home. The day was sunny and on the cool side, so she invited me to sit in the backyard.
After 18 months of dating, on June 10, 1950, at 9 a.m. mass at Corpus Christi Church in Newport, Kentucky, Bob Schumacher and I, Jean Bertke, pronounced our wedding vows before Rev. John Kroger, our relatives, friends and guests. On June 10, 2020, we remembered, but did not celebrate, our 70…
It seems so silly now. How could I ever be so naïve or gullible? Yes, it was so. It was always the longest day — besides Christmas, of course.
I believe in prayer, don’t you? I’ve written about the power of prayer in several Essays on Faith. An old song says, “What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer.”
“God gave us music that we might pray without words.” This heartwarming sentiment exists on a beautiful cross-stitched piece, framed and given to me by my daughter.
In these days of voluminous information and instant communication, many things that were never questioned are now called into question. Questions of morals and ethics, religion and politics are constantly before us. Granted, the questions do not delve into the depths of any consideration, an…
One of the basic principles a society must uphold is the respect for authority. Respect for authority is the great regulator of life. Suppose we had no norm or standard by which to live, and no set power, authority or judgment to direct us, what would be the outcome?
Tomorrow is Independence Day, commonly known as the Fourth of July. It is a federal holiday in the United States. It commemorates the adoption of the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776, which declared our independence from the Kingdom of Great Britain.
“STORES ON THE PIER! STORES ON THE PIER!”
Alyce Faye Bragg has sadly decided to retire her column. Bragg, who has written a weekly column for the Gazette-Mail for decades, said she appreciates and loves all the friends she has made over the years.
A week or so ago, I was watching the movie “The Legend of Tarzan,” and when the time came, Tarzan swung from one big vine to another. It was then it occurred to me that I’d swung on a large grapevine when I was 9 years old, but did I ever tell my parents? The answer would be: “NO!” Did I jum…
On the way home from shopping, Mr. H. and I passed a rather young-looking man standing beside the road holding a sign that read: “Need help. Please help feed my children. God Bless you!”
Father’s Day is almost here, and I find myself thinking about my father. He has been gone for almost 41 years, yet there is hardly a day goes by when I don’t remember something about him. Father’s Day is a special day for remembering, and I am remembering the things that Daddy taught us.
From the time I was little, I was drawn to nature’s treasures that abounded in the front or backyard or anywhere on the block where I lived. My relatives were used to my picking and/or pulling up little treasures such as buttercups, clover, wild strawberries or what was seasonal.
In a recent phone conversation with a friend, one of us mentioned that it’s almost Father’s Day and my friend said, “I’ll bet you were ‘daddy’s little girl,’ weren’t you?”
I had to have a medical procedure this week, inside a small operating room with anesthesia, the whole nine yards. I was dreading it of course, as we all do. But then something made it so bearable and almost pleasant.
I received a letter a few days ago from an anonymous reader.
When I was a little girl, somewhere between the ages of 8 and 13, people often remarked to my mother that I looked like Margaret O’Brien, a child actress of the ‘40s who began her prolific career in films at the age of 4.
The month of June comes floating in on butterfly wings, trailing roses at her feet. She has always been a delightful month, leaving the colder weather behind and bringing warmer days.
I reported to a destroyer tender for temporary duty after being a Christian for less than a year. I had failed many times publicly to confess Jesus as my Lord and Savior. Aboard the tender seemed no place to be an example of Christ’s life-changing grace.
Here we are — already into the first week of June and almost halfway through the year.
Memorial Day has departed, and soon the month of May will follow. June, with her roses and brides, is eager to enter our hills, but both months leave reminders for us to love and admire.
With Memorial Day behind us, and the thermometer hitting the 88 degree mark today, summer seems to be in full swing.
Golden ragwort is spread all over the hillside here, and soft, pink-topped daisy fleabane marches up and down the ditch. Yellow buttercups, so shiny they look as if they have been painted with enamel paint, bloom hand in hand with the fleabane.