by Ron Collins
There’s a place here in Columbus. Our family considers it Mecca. It is an important place. It is a place of many visits, a place of celebration and of solace.
What is this place, you might ask? Is it a church, or a park, or some other such place of meditation and beauty?
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by Ron Collins
I went out to get the mail in yesterday. For those of you who are really serious about writing, I don’t need to explain the fixation I have for the mailbox. For the rest of you, let me say that the mailbox is Mecca, the sacred totem that must be faced once daily, the bringer of all news foul, yet a comfort beyond all my ability to describe.
So you can see why I was flustered when I discovered that our recent ice storm had temporarily welded the danged thing shut with a sheet of ice as thick as a standard pencil.
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In the fall, I spend Saturday afternoons sitting on an aluminum seat, watching my beloved Louisville Cardinals play something that passes for football. The general process of watching these games goes something like this:
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