Can it really have been 25 years ago? It sometimes seems like yesterday when the Great Flood of 1994 swallowed a large swatch of Georgia, including Macon, where I lived at the time.

Quite by accident this week, I learned that my childhood Saturday mornings, sitting in front of the TV with a bowl of Cap’n Crunch, were a lie. Coyotes, it turns out, are faster than roadrunners.

My grandmother used to always laugh when we went to a restaurant that had one of those signs on the door that said, “No shirt, no shoes, no service.”

I ran into a young woman at lunch the other day who had been a student in one of my journalism classes a year ago. Fortunately, she had made an A, so she seemed genuinely happy to see me.

When I was a kid, I loved watching “The Jetsons,” a cartoon about a family set in the space-age future.

You have to be from the South, I think, to fully understand the relationship college football fans develop with their favorite team’s radio announcer.

I’ve been surprised over the last few weeks at the number of critters I’ve encountered during my daily walks with Milly, the liver and white springer spaniel who lives at my house.

I love books. Fiction. Nonfiction. It doesn't really matter. I've been this way since childhood, ever since Mrs. Widener taught us to read in the first grade. Before long, I was sharing the adventures of teenage detectives Frank and Joe Hardy.