My Friday mornings used to be very laid-back and peaceful. Things here at the office tend to be very relaxed on Fridays compared to the other days during the work week, so those mornings typically involve a leisurely breakfast while perusing my e-mail and numerous newspapers.

Heard any good fishin’ stories lately? I’ve run across two that sound fishy to me, but are supposedly real life happenings in the “truth is stranger than fiction” category.

At one time in our nation’s history, there was a great deal of denominational loyalty. If a person was born a Methodist or a Baptist, he or she tended to stay a Methodist or a Baptist and so did the children. That day is no more.

For the last four days, while rocking on the back porch of the lodge, I’ve watched the light as it danced on the water. Late each afternoon, in a flash of orange and yellow, the sun dipped below the horizon. Beneath the clear summer sky, the water shimmered like diamonds as the moon rose.

Well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? And I really appreciate your patience as I recuperated from open heart surgery and had to drop the ball here, at least temporarily. I am doing much better, thank you, and am going to attempt to get these columns going once again, picking up where we left off with the family of William Tidwell and Mary Amelia Jones.

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

Stella Parton, my longtime friend, arrived for lunch in Nashville one day with a handful of presents.

This, by the way, is a very Southern woman thing to do. We always bring gifts to a gathering and most certainly will slip one in a visitor’s hand as she’s leaving our home. I, too, had a couple of gifts for her. We hugged, squealed like school girls who haven’t seen each other in a long time then excitedly exchanged our gifts

I was wondering the other day in my travels around South Fulton if there is anything else going this summer besides the mass of proposed annexations and the political maneuvering that accompanies them. It didn’t take long to figure it out. And some of it is worth a double-take.

When my youngest son, James, enlisted for a six-year hitch in the United States Air Force on his 18th birthday, he received a “Certificate of Enlistment.” Some days later, his recruiter called to talk to him and, after a few minutes, James called out, “Hey, Dad! My recruiter wants to know what you thought about my Certificate of Enlistment.”

Mom was right. I should have listened to her. She told us she didn’t want us to go. She had a feeling someone was going to get hurt — she was right. That night, I lost my best friend in the cave-in.

Adam Sandler first showed his appreciation for director Frank Capra in 2002’s “Mr. Deeds,” a rough remake of Capra’s 1936 film “Mr. Deeds Goes to Town.” In “Click,” Sandler aims higher, turning Capra’s classic “It’s a Wonderful Life” into an uncomfortable combination of lowbrow humor and heavy-handed moralizing.

It has been 19 years since Superman graced the silver screen and fans of all types of films, especially films based on comic books, had to be wondering, does the world need a new Superman movie? Need it or not, “Superman Returns” was made and is in theaters now. But how does the man from Krypton stack up in a world that is now used to seeing fantastic and amazing feats from mutants, vigilantes, super-heroes, fellowships and boy wizards?

Gregory K. Moffatt, Ph.D. June 2006

My oldest child is preparing to leave home and now that she is an adult, I've thought a lot about the most important things I've tried to teach her.

Randy Dewberry, a retired nuclear engineer, and his wife are down to the wire. He writes:

It was now 2 o’clock and the puppies were to be there by 3. I reached into the pen with the idea I would choose the first one that came to me. They all came at the same time. Grab one, any one, I told myself.

This is an open letter to Billy Payne, who succeeds Hootie Johnson as president and chairman of Augusta National Golf Club in Augusta, Ga.:

The Full Gospel Baptist State Convention, meeting in Decatur last week, was being carried along with the theme of relationships. I was an invited guest due to the fact that my dear friend, the Rev. Mamie Harris, was one of the featured speakers.

Recently, I wrote an article about the sacred vows that many ministers make at their ordination to the ministry or to the priesthood. I remarked that, all too often, those vows get broken.

Mom was right. I should have listened to her. She told us she didn’t want us to go. She had a feeling someone was going to get hurt — she was right. That night, I lost my best friend in the cave-in.

Like every Vietnam veteran I know, one of the lessons I learned in that war was that young Americans who do their duty in grave danger, and struggle mightily to bring one another home alive, have earned our admiration.

It is amazing to me how many people can’t carry on a conversation. Especially when introduced to new people.

To be downright honest with you, it’s wearing me out.

Ouida Horne’s obituary can be read in this past week’s Sunday Ledger-Enquirer Newspaper (Columbus, Georgia). It tells of her birth, death, family, and a few references to her life as an interior designer. It also gives the news of her funeral service and the so-called final resting place of her remains. But, unfortunately, obits just don’t tell the whole story. Newspapers would get rich if the whole story were told.

Randy Dewberry of Baxley, Ga., tells about the negotiations, phone calls, and, yes, chicanery, it took to secure the future of nine puppies orphaned when only about two weeks old.

Jean belongs to an online baking circle and has learned more than just how to make her own sourdough. We both believe that the Internet “used with caution” offers community in a world in which community is sometimes found wanting.

In a brightly lit washroom at Underground Atlanta, there is one lonely attendant, an old man, somewhat hunched over with age.

When I was ordained into the priesthood, I was required to make certain vows. I had to declare that “I do believe the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments to be the Word of God,” and I vowed that I would “solemnly engage to conform to the doctrine, discipline, and worship” of my denomination.

This is the new South Fulton. Rapidly growing in number, they are articulate, informed and in no mood for political machinations or economic development projects that stand to compromise their communities. The most recent example of self-determination in the new South Fulton came only days ago at a public meeting over whether $16.5 million in revenue bond financing by the Fulton County Housing Authority should be used to help defray the cost of a 264-unit apartment complex near the intersection of South Fulton Parkway and Ga. Highway 92. Mainly at issue was the project component that would set aside 80 percent of the apartments for low-to-moderate income families with transportation costs for those residents provided by Fulton County Housing Authority.

One day while we were lunching, Merri Grace and I ran into an acquaintance who, at the age of 36, had just gotten married.

Let’s think about some recent or ongoing local issues.

• Sewer system expansions. The Peachtree City Council woke up long enough to veto any sewer expansion to Coweta County neighbor, Senoia, although a transcript of that meeting suggests that Mayor Harold Logsdon was leaning toward approval until he discovered which way the wind was blowing.

Birds love to nest on a narrow perch only a few feet from our front door. I’ve tried to let them know they were not particularly welcomed but gave way once noticing mother sitting at length.

A pack of young thugs, armed with a shotgun and a pistol, picked on the wrong victim recently in Atlanta.

Thomas Autry, 36, was walking home after completing his shift as a waiter. According to an article in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, “Autry had left his job at the Jocks & Jills restaurant in Midtown and was walking along Penn Avenue when a blue Cadillac pulled alongside and three men and a woman, one armed with a shotgun, and the woman jumped from the car.