Opinion

By Terry Geoghegan
and Tom FitzGerald
Landowners contacted by the Bluegrass Pipeline Partners LLC, the Williams Company or one of their representatives about selling an easement for the construction of a 24-inch pressurized natural gas liquids pipeline across their property rightfully have questions about whether granting such an easement is in their interest.

Column as I see ’em …
The chart attached to this column is both interesting and sad.
Interesting in that it shows just how much Wild Turkey currently pays in property taxes after investing over $100 million in our fair county during the past four years.
What’s sad is the bottom half of the list because it points out just how poorly Anderson County has done in attracting more taxpaying behemoths like Wild Turkey.

There’s an old adage that says it’s a bad idea to argue with someone who buys ink by the gallon (that would be me).
It’s also a bad idea to get into a prank war with someone like me, particularly when the prank involves purchasing an ad in The Anderson News Extra that pokes fun at me for turning 50 this week.
Cheri Johnson, a health department nurse who fancies herself Lawrenceburg’s Queen of Pranks, did just that, placing an ad in Monday’s Extra in a somewhat lame attempt to exact a measure of revenge for a crime I did not commit.

Good people die nearly every day in Anderson County.
From age to disease to accidents, people beloved by their friends and families are taken too soon no matter their age, leaving mourners in their wake and questions about why God takes them from our lives.
Most, through no fault of their own, go largely unnoticed outside of their immediate circle of loved ones. Others, for whatever reason, leave a deeper impression on those around them — not for any tangible reason, just because they do.

“Shallow men believe in luck or in circumstance. Strong men believe in cause and effect.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Since giving my youngest daughter’s hand in marriage last Friday afternoon, I’ve thought a lot about the idea of being lucky.
I’ve never been one to believe in luck, and often bristle when I hear that so and so is “lucky” because he has a good job or a nice home or whatever.

You thought you could see the deer breathe.  
The relaxed buck sat resting among moss and grasses near a fence post, just in front of a rusted sign that once read “Posted: no hunting.”
Opposite where his competition full-body buck sat in repose, Justin Tinsley smeared glue onto a plastic form of his deer mount before pulling the damp fur of a tanned deer hide or “cape” over the form.
The cape is important, I learned.

Stephanie Blackwell’s vision of California is desert and Hollywood.
She sees flat, open spaces.
Of course, Blackwell’s never seen California, only heard about Great Aunt Bertie’s orange grove and almond trees, the garden and maybe geese at Bertie’s home in Selma, Calif.
But after a late summer road trip spanning more than 2,000 miles, an estimated $1,000 budget for gas and about 10 states, California will be her new home for Blackwell and her son, William Smith, age 9 almost 10.

I became enraged as I read [sports editor] John Herndon’s column entitled “What happened to decency?” concerning the recent bill passed in California that protects transgender students’ right to choose the gendered sport and locker room that matches their gender identity.

I must be insane to be standing here, taking a photo of the courthouse at 12:45 a.m.
Let’s be clear here: I am not a night owl.
The night, even last Saturday night with its sleepy August cricket chirps and lingering smoke of dinner barbecues, does not appeal to me.
You will not find me conscious at midnight, sitting outside on a porch on a warm summer night to contemplate life after all the lights have been snuffed out except for the moon.
I like sleep. I love sleep.