Opinion

Ever wonder why your brain seems to have a mind of its own when it comes to choosing the easy way out? Let’s look at how the path of least resistance manifests in our daily lives. It’s everywhere, folks — from the moment we wake up to the time we hit the hay.

Being a lifelong music fan and an occasional radio host, I’ve often baffl ed my family with my song selections. I believe that the driver of the vehicle controls the music. I’m the one who has to stay alert, right? So my lucky passengers have long been treated to my music choices. At first, it was a mix tape, aptly named. Later, I began “burning” random songs to compact discs. Now I create my own playlists, and play them directly from my phone into the car speakers.

With more than 50 Blessed Drives rambling in my head and heart, I couldn’t help but reminisce on my way over to Bugtussle. No matter how I sliced it, I was treading on ground already traveled in my sojourns across the county. But I don’t buy a roast beef sandwich for the bread, Family. Tucked in between Robinson and Swan Creek is Meat if I’ve ever seen it! My breath was taken away by the beauty of Bugtussle over and over. Truly, I hope y’all will take a slow Blessed Drive down this one if you’ve never gone before. Until then, let me try to whet your appetite a little.

Fighting scams and fraud

My wife, Lissa, was a talented artist and an enthusiastic art history buff. We dreamed together for years about traveling around Italy. More accurately, she dreamed about Italy and I was looking forward to traveling with her wherever she wanted to go, but Lissa died and our dream of traveling transformed into making Petersburg great again.

As the nation watches the unfolding military action in Iran, many Americans understandably focus on what they feel most immediately — the rising price of gas, the uncertainty in the markets and the inconvenience of global tension. Those reactions are human, and they are real. But for many of us who once wore the uniform — those who spent years or decades in service, who deployed again and again into combat zones — these moments stir something far deeper than frustration at the pump.

Daddy was a soft-spoken man so it was startling when he tilted his head back, opened his mouth, formed his hands into a megaphone and released a high-pitched, piercing “ssoooOOOOOOOOOK,” followed by a pause listening any cattle to return his call. Across the pasture, several cows would look up and turn their heads toward us.