The house is shuttered. The curtains drawn. The tools silent.
Ever since Al and Markey McGaw moved in next to my parents on Ware Street, that house on the corner has been alive.
From Al's incessant tinkering in the main bathroom -- he's rearranged it more than three times in recent years -- to Markey's books on tape, the door was always open for family and friends.
Last week, Al and Markey left their house to live closer to family in South Carolina. And for the first time in a long time, Al's classical music wasn't reverberating through the back yard.
Their move was inevitable. The last few months have been difficult for them both. Al's health had slipped, leaving him to shuffle around the house all day.
Markey's sight had deteriorated to the point that the old television wasn't big enough. Neither was the new big one, so Al moved his chair to that corner so he could spend his days looking at his best girl. And her view was of her favorite old goat.
The good news is they are just a couple of hours away. Sounds like a road trip just waiting to happen.
I have another television confession to make. Sunday night ushered in new episodes of Desperate Housewives and the season premiere of Grey's Anatomy. And I couldn't be happier.
Miriam and I started watching Housewives last season and have not missed an episode since they started. We've made it a point to clear our Sunday night schedules so that we can be there in front of the television for our time on Wisteria Lane.
Now, we take an extra hour to watch Grey's Anatomy, mainly because Patrick Dempsey is one of the stars. Miriam and I met him on the set of Sweet Home Alabama in Crawfordville several years ago, and she's been hooked ever since. He was a nice guy, down to earth and genuine.
Add those two to my wrestling fixation (and American Idol) and I've got plenty of time to sit behind my laptop and work on The Mirror. Without cable, I'm not sure the paper would even get out every week. And I'm positive I'd not have any clothes cleaned and ironed.
We are upon my favorite time of the year -- Masters week. It's no secret that I'm a huge fan of all things Augusta National and having the spotlight on that great club for one week out of the year is spectacular.
During part of my time at The Augusta Chronicle, I was fortunate to spend Masters week milling around the grounds of the Augusta National Golf Club covering the tournament. Honestly, it is the only thing I miss about my time at a daily newspaper, so I get pangs about this time every year.
Next week, I won't be there. But my television will be tuned to USA and CBS Thursday through Sunday.
Now if I could only figure out a way to get my hands on one of those Masters pimento cheese sandwiches.