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Columns

  • An open letter to mothers everywhere

    Dear Mom:

    That’s what I’ll call you here, though many of my friends and family may call you Mother or Mama or Momma or Madre or Ma or even something more formal. They may even call you by your name.

    But we all probably should call you angel, because without you, we would not exist.

    It’s not that you necessarily gave birth to us, it’s that you embraced us from the instant we met, gave us love, shelter, food and everything else essential to growing our lives.

  • SOUDER: The path that good intentions paves

    In the 2004 Olympics, Matt Emmons had victory in sight. In fact, he was only one shot away from claiming the gold medal in the 50-meter 3-position rifle event. He was so far ahead that he didn't even need a bull's-eye to win; his final shot merely needed to hit the target.

    He took aim and fired. Normally, the shot he made would have received a score of 8.1, more than enough for the gold medal. But, in what was described as "an extremely rare mistake in elite competition," Emmons had fired at the wrong target.

  • A young person’s perspective in indelible ink

    In a world in which vicious vitriol is the vanguard of criticism, a hundred words could not have been more troubling, not because of what was said but because of what wasn’t said, what was missed, because of the emotion behind the letters and punctuation marks that came together to form the paragraphs.

    Because they made my point and missed my point.

  • This dog won’t have his day

    I don’t have a dog in this fight, but now I can’t imagine that Mitt Romney has any more chance of carrying Shelby County on Election Day (either of them)  than Hooch does of of winning the Westminster Dog Show.

    That became cat-eyed clear when I read the other day for the first time the story of the Romney family’s dog and his ride atop the car on a family vacation.

    I realize many of you who doggedly follow the political pontifications already know all the leavings on this.

  • SOUDER: The saddest word in the English language

    Today I’d like to take a few minutes of your time to talk about what I believe is perhaps the saddest word in the English language.

    Now, some might suggest that the saddest word is a medically-related word such as “inoperable” or “‘terminal,” and I certainly am not minimizing those. Others might think the saddest word is more philosophical, such as “almost.”

  • Sometimes we can be green about life on a few acres

    A sympathy card is in the mail to Lisa Douglas.

    You may remember her, the wife of attorney Oliver Wendell Douglas, who was pulled against her will from her apartment on Park Avenue in New York City and moved to a farm in the middle of somewhere so her husband could pursue his true passion of farming.

    Lisa wasn’t happy about that decision, because the new digs were closer to henhouse than penthouse, if you get my drift. But she adapted.

  • Give me a little hair, long beautiful hair

    My son walked into the kitchen the other day, dressed for an evening event, and asked me proudly, “Do you like how I have my hair organized?”

    Although he is gifted in language arts, he didn’t quite understand why I immediately laughed, thinking perhaps that his “organization” wasn’t all that great.

    Truth is, he has extremely soft, thick hair – think of something that you would use to brush clean a fine fabric or even your own hair – and it had grown beyond its “organizational” best.

  • SOUDER: A dramatic change of circumstances

    “The angel said to the women, ‘Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said.’” (Matthew 28:5-6)

    Several years ago, the following letter was reportedly sent to a resident of Greenville County, S.C.: “Your food stamps will be stopped, effective March 1992, because we received notice that you passed away. May God bless you. You may reapply if your circumstances change.”

  • Have you ever seen a better team than this group from UK?

    In the century plus that the University of Kentucky has played basketball, from the jump ball era through the 2-handed-set-shot epoch, across the short-pants-and-Chuck Taylor All-Stars motif and into the urban chic dunk-and-punk style of game, we have seen Wildcats of all sizes and shapes win NCAA championships.

    But I’m venturing a guess we have never seen a better group of them come together and cut down the nets in the season’s final game than we did on Monday night in New Orleans.

  • THE GAME is only second to what it could have been

    This week, our so-called one percent is made up not of an economic group but of those Kentuckians who are not incorrigibly immersed in college basketball.

    Are you thinking of anything other than Saturday’s big game in New Orleans? Can you wait? Breath bated? Bets down? Pride bursting? Have family gatherings, civic events and, oh, nuptials and funerals fallen off your Super Doppler?

    To heck with Florida vs. the United States Department of Health and Human Services. This is UK vs. UofL in the NCAA semifinals.