To date, I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t have at least one regret. An “if only” worthy of a do-over. Many of us have lots, which we often enumerate at least mentally so frequently that residing in the past has become a habit, no matter the time that has elapsed since the “transgression.”

Ah, tomatoes. The delight and the bane of home gardeners everywhere. Especially here.  Down here in the Lowcountry, our soil is full of fungi, wilts and blights that decimate our ‘Brandywine’, ‘German Johnson’, ‘Mortgage Lifter’ and most other heirloom tomatoes.   

I gotta say that as I write this, I have the appropriate amount of anger. I mean, if I’m being honest, I’m a little miffed I’m not devoting this whole article to the Masters and/or Arnold Palmer. I’ve only been wanting to write an article on my Super Bowl for over a year and even arranged with my friend and column partner Katherine Brown to have this writing slot to have an article come out during the first full week of April.