To be honest I am having a hard time concentrating.
I am sitting at my desk at the Star Herald, the window behind me is open, allowing a strong southerly breeze to overtake me. The problem is about 300 yards to my south, on the front steps of the Randolph County Courthouse, county employees are grilling hamburgers, hundreds of hamburgers to sell to folks to raise money for flood victims.
As I sit here working on next week's column, the unmistakeable, undeniable, delicious aroma of raw meat cooking over a charcoal fire has literally filled the office, being assisted by the southerly winds.
We are all smiling an having trouble concentrating on our tasks. I'm looking at the clock and they will be grilling for at least two more hours. I'm thinking I might as well sit back, close my eyes, and let my mind take me away, imagining I am once again seven years old, and standing guard over the grill with my Grandpa Dalton, on a hot, sunny, Sunday afternoon, soaking in the knowledge he imparts on me of how to properly grill, how to make your own BBW sauce, all the while listening to Jack Buck and Harry Caray broadcast Cardinal baseball on KMOX.
The aroma that still fills my nostrils is intoxicating. It brings back pleasant memories and I don't want it to end.
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