Barbara Batchler was a Columbus Lion for several years, and endeared herself to us as she jumped right in to work with us.

We used her chicken casserole recipe to serve attendees at our annual luncheon, prepared for our Visually Impaired Persons (VIPs). She was a “take charge” and “git-R-done” kind of person, always “helping out.”

When we needed a photo for our Lions Profiles booklet, she happily came by to pose for me — natural light, no sun glaring in her eyes — so I got a radiant smile for my efforts. She has gone much too soon to her reward, so we must all bid her adieu. Sob.

An article in the Washington Post implied that hugging is going “out of style,” in view of the “MeToo” movement. I have been hugging ladies, especially “mature ones,” for years.

I have learned to gauge their enthusiasm, or lack thereof, by their response. So many enjoy them as heart-warming experiences that I am not about to quit, as I enjoy them too.

Google states that hugging has health benefits: heart health, lowers blood pressure, boosts happiness and self-esteem, and reduces risk of infection. So there! 

My son and I always share “bear hugs,” which he originates. Some ladies also prefer bear hugs to the more gentle, slight squeeze kind. Granny Smith (aka Virginia, Frank’s late wife) always came to me for a bear hug at Lions — later she became so fragile, as her health declined, that I just put my arms around her loosely, and gently rubbed her back briefly. I think such affectionate coming together is a healthy way to share good feelings about one another.

When I wrote about my late friend Fred Cochran, I commented that, while Geneva was busy buying their groceries, all the other ladies were enthusiastically hugging Fred. He was that kind of guy, well-liked by everyone.

And Geneva hugged me, by the way, and always gave us some of her renowned pound cake when we left. No way to give her more than we got!

The improvements to the intersection of U.S. Highway 74 with I-26 are proceeding in high gear, as the big dump trucks roll through the now-infamous roundabouts to borrow red dirt from a hill and put it in the valley below. Their path is protected by signal people and Jersey barriers everywhere, so they can barrel through without touching their brakes. By their sheer numbers they are leaving a red carpet on the pavement, which a tractor-mounted brush tries in vain to sweep away.

I understand that we got that dysfunctional interchange originally because our county commissioners wanted the interstate traffic to stop in Columbus for gas and eats. I am glad that I was away while the interstate was being built on Miller Mountain — but Aunt Mildred filled me in whenever I visited her.

The mica dirt would not stay put, and washed down the mountain with every rain, destroying much of the landscape at the Walcott and Costa (now Stonehedge) estates by redirecting the creeks and filling their lakes. With all the money spent and still no road, it continued to wash away while the engineers figured out a way to stabilize the roadbed.

I am not privy to the fate of the roundabouts, but they work a lot better than many of us thought they would. I had an early appointment with Dr. Perraut one morning and commented that the roundabouts looked like an ant farm, with all the traffic negotiating them.

He laughed — my mission accomplished.