In these uncertain times, it can be easy to get pessimistic.
We have an economy that swings back and forth like a pendulum, political unrest (domestically and abroad), troops still away at war and the ever-present specter of the unknown and unpredictable, such as the devastating storms that ripped through parts of the South last week.
That said, I’m not here to be pessimistic on a Sunday morning.
There is much to love in life. Big things. Little things. All the stuff that makes up a life.
I love what Jim and Denise Medford, owners of The Links at Stoney Point, have done in bringing a Symetra Tour tournament to Greenwood. The Self Regional Healthcare Foundation Women’s Health Classic begins this week. This is set to be an annual tournament and I can’t even imagine the impact it will have on Greenwood in the next decade.
I love that 91-year-old Hewie Goff is still on the roster down at Troy Volunteer Fire Department. He doesn’t fight fires anymore, but I’m told he still helps around the station and has an interest in what’s going on at the department.

I love the way my daughter says the word “sugar.” She says it like “sugah.” She sounds like one of the characters from “Steel Magnolias.” “Daddy, can I have some strawberries with sugah?”
I love the album “A Heart in Limbo” by Bless Yer Heart. Damn right.
I love the way cold fried chicken tastes when you get back to your tailgate spot after a college football game. There’s nothing like reaching into the cooler, pulling out a drumstick and debating everything that went wrong and everything that went right during the game. Some of the best revisionist armchair coaching in the world goes on over that cold fried chicken.
I love seeing my name on the front page of the newspaper. That feeling has never gone away.
I love watching attorney Billy Garrett work in front of a jury.
I loved the way the grocery store floor felt under my bare feet when I was a kid. The floor was always so cold. Do they still let kids walk in the grocery store barefooted?
I love James Earl Jones’ speech about baseball near the end of “Field of Dreams.” And I love James Horner’s music in “Field of Dreams.” And I LOVE Burt Lancaster’s performance as Moonlight Graham in “Field of Dreams.” Basically, I love “Field of Dreams.”
I love the way tennis balls smell when you first crack open a new can.
I love the works of late columnist/author Lewis Grizzard. This probably doesn’t surprise you. He wrote books and did stand-up and was, of course, a newspaperman. More than anything he was just a great Southern writer. He’s been dead 20 years now, but I still read his old books and find myself with tears in my eyes from laughing so hard. I wish he was still around.
I love being at the corner of Bluff Road and George Rogers Boulevard in Columbia on Saturday nights in the fall, with “2001” ringing in my ears and a crescent moon hanging in the sky above.
I love my wife’s laugh. She’s got one of the all-time laughs.
I love how people in Greenwood County get riled up about little stupid stuff sometimes, like a business putting an opinionated message on its sign or a school administrator wrestling a pig. “What, our taxes are going up? Who cares? The local principal wrestled a pig. Someone’s head needs to roll!”
I love a grape Nehi in the glass bottle. Especially at the Rough House in Abbeville.
I love how Greenwood County Councilman Gonza Bryant adjourns council meetings. He adjourns every single one of them the same way, without fail: “Mr. Chairman, I offer you a motion that we adjourn. Let those who are opposed stay right here.”
I love the way cigarette smoke smells outdoors. Further, I love a good Private Stock cigar.
I love my Aunt Lillian. I love the way her voice sounds. Always have. Hang in there, Aunt Lillian.
I love the way those waitresses at the Dixie take your order and don’t write anything down. I also love that the cooks can keep it all straight back there in the kitchen without anything written down.
I love shooting fireworks for my neighbors on July 4, and scaring all the kids in the neighborhood on Halloween. It’s a great neighborhood.
I love the Index-Journal office building on Phoenix Street. All the cinder blocks and dust and newspapers stacked up and fingers clacking on keyboards. I love writers arguing with copy editors and pressmen covered in ink. And the jokes. Lord, the jokes. You wouldn’t believe the gallows humor in a newsroom.
Life isn’t perfect. We all know that. But, take a look around. I bet you’ll find more than a few things to love.

Trainor is the senior staff writer at the Index-Journal. Contact him at 864-943-5650; email You can follow him on Twitter @IJCHRISTRAINOR. Views expressed in this column are those of the writer only and do not represent the newspaper’s opinion.