Yeah, it's been a while.

Around 12 or 13 years to be exact. Not sure why I stopped writing here. Life got busy, perhaps, or there was something else.

Anyway, my apologies.

I'll try to do better this time around.

It's March 2024, it's sunny and the house is quiet.

I'm sure there's something out there for me to pontificate about. After all, it is Oklahoma...

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Ex-pastor suing Moore's First Baptist Church

MOORE — A former official with Moore’s First Baptist Church is suing the church for his termination, and for “spreading false rumors about his mental health throughout the community,” court documents show. Jimmie D. Lady, the church’s associate pastor, filed the suit in Cleveland County District Court last week seeking $10,000 in actual damages and $10,000 in punitive damages for “severe emotional distress and mental anguish as a result of statements made about him when his job was terminated.” Lady’s attorney, Andrew Hicks of Houston, claimed church officials terminated Lady for being bi-polar, then spread rumors about Lady in the community. “Although a man of God, Dr. Lady cannot ignore the dramatic, adverse effects these untrue and unfair accusations have had on him and his family,” Hicks said. “First Baptist Moore’s efforts to tarnish Dr. Lady’s reputation have threatened his family’s livelihood. Through this suit, we hope to restore Dr. Lady’s good name.” Church officials denied

Learning the ropes

Kyle is a friend of mine. He's young, and he's a fellow writing student. Kyle is quiet, kind and very, very smart. When he's not writing for class, he's writing for the student newspaper. And not too long ago, Kyle got his first scar as a journalist. He decided he was going to write a piece about a 'colorful' fast food place on the northeast side of Oklahoma City. Kyle loaded up with a few friends — remember, he's in college and any roadtrip -- even a short one -- is still a roadtrip – and headed north, up the Interstate. Kyle visited the place, came back and wrote his story. And up to that point, everything was fine. Then the story ran in the newspaper. And everyone from the editor on down jumped up and down on Kyle with exceedingly great jumps. People turned out in droves to denounce Kyle. They wrote letters. His colleagues pissed and moaned. And my friend Kyle was ready to give up. He didn't. Kyle and I and Mel, our professor, had a long, intense disc

If I were a chef...

If I were a chef, I’d spend early Wednesday mornings at the Farmers Market. I’d get there around 7 a.m., when the produce was wet and fresh and the day was young and the people were still drinking their coffee. If I were a chef, I’d wait patiently while the wrinkled granny lady individually fondled all 631 tomatoes on the table in front of her. I’d quietly tap my foot as she sniffed and touched each of the red, buxom vegetables before she finally selected two, and paid for them. I’d do that, if I were a chef. If I were a chef, I buy peaches — boxes and boxes of peaches. I’d buy them from the old, snaggle-toothed man with the radiant smile whose booth sits to the right of the entrance to the fairgrounds building. I’d buy his peaches because I know the old man understands fruit and earth and trees, better than anyone else there. I’d smile as his wrinkled, gnarly hand gently placed peach after peach in my basket. And I’d give him a sly wink after he handed me a bruised, but succulent pea

The Evenin' Shadders

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