Milestones.

I like most milestones, but even the ones I don't particularly care for, I still pay attention to.

For instance, I'll always remember the exact date and time that I crashed my motorcycle and spent the next year recovering. I base time frames for other life events by whether they happened " before the wreck" or "after the wreck".

My kids used that one for a long time too.

"Dad, before the wreck you promised me that you'd buy me a brand new Mustang."

"Daddy, I know you don't remember, because it was before the wreck, but you said that I could start dating when I was twelve."

They thought they could take advantage of my temporary short term memory loss.

It didn't work.

I also remember the date I entered police academy, the date I graduated and the date that I peeled off the body armor for the final time.

The date that my chest was cracked open and my heart got new parts and service stands out.

Another milestone has just passed, one that means a lot to me.

In no particular order, this milestone's numbers are 2, 104 and 83,000 (give or take a few).

Two years I've been blessed with the opportunity to write my stories. One hundred and four columns. Over eighty-three thousand words.

Enough words to fill a novel and a novella.

Which brings up another point. I'm asked several times a week if I ever plan to write a book.

The answer is, absolutely. Everybody who writes wants to do a book or a novel, me included. I will, and I hope somebody will read it.

But for now, I am still having a ball writing these little weekly mini books.

I should caution you though, don't try this at home. It's not as easy as it looks!

Coming up with a new and fresh idea every week and trying to create a story that is entertaining can be daunting.

Fortunately, I am blessed with a huge eccentric Southern family and hundreds of equally unconventional friends, so it's doubtful that I will run out of things to say any time soon.

In fact, a while back, I sat down and made a list of topics to be used for future columns. I came up with ideas for over a hundred stories and felt very secure that I wouldn't go dry anytime soon.

As it turns out, over a year later, I've added several ideas to the list and have used only a handful.

Perhaps I'm simply lucky, but, every few days something happens to me, or I see something, or hear something, maybe even taste or smell something, that triggers a new thought, or brings back an old one.

Maybe I will be sitting in my yard swing and one of the wild girl dogs who adopted me will do something so funny that I laugh out loud.

That's a column.

Or I'll see an old coon mosey across a dirt road and will remember a long ago night hunt. Another story.

A granddaughter will be born. A young Marine will return from the war. A daughter will graduate from college.

See what I mean? Everything has a story. Of course the best source of all, where ideas are abundant and perpetually forthcoming, is the Blessed South itself.

I saw a TV ad last week for a program on public television which stated that the host always interviewed "the world's most interesting people." The spot named some supposedly remarkable folks most of whom I can't recall but I do remember that Barbra Streisand was mentioned.

Barbra Streisand? Really?

I beg to differ.

I find a local woman who can fix any lawn mower and who can out cuss most drunk sailors much more entertaining.

Or the old man in Texas I ran across who lives in an abandoned line shack and claims to have invented rocket propulsion fuel. He almost had me convinced.

I don't even have to leave the family to get material. Uncle Cuz, the most universally adored man I ever knew. Aunt Judy, who became a published poet in her seventies. Uncle VZ who claimed to have broken his arm eating dinner during the Great Depression. He fell out of the persimmon tree.

All three are in Heaven with Jesus and Daddy now. And all three are still evoking great tales.

Dixie, the homeland of my family and many of my friends, is a writer's treasure trove.

I'm confident that's not going to change so I plan to keep on writing.

Once again, thank you, sincerely, for reading. And thanks for the stories.

Yours and mine.

Don Lively is a retired police officer and freelance writer. He lives in Shell Bluff. Email Don at Livelycolo@aol.com.