In accordance to our weekly routine, we gather at my sister's house every Sunday for dinner following church. Normally, she who does most of the work chooses the menu, but the tradition is that each one of us gets to choose lunch for our birthday.
A while back, after a speaking engagement, I was signing books when a woman somewhere in her 40s I suppose, came through the line. We exchanged courtesies then I handed her books back to her. But she didn't walk away, despite the long line of folks waiting behind her. She looked at me expectantly then leaned a little closer.
Larry, an aspiring writer, wrote me the other day and asked if I would read a synopsis of a book he is working to complete. Like me, he writes of Southern people, especially those who rise up from the crooks and hollows of the mountains.
One morning in Sunday School class, members were requesting prayer for those who were facing trials and tribulations. Solemnly, Billy, our teacher, nodded at each then asked if there were more. After a couple of minutes of silence, I raised my hand and smiled.
September 20, 2011|
|Ronda Rich's column
Not too long ago, a friend of mine discovered rather abruptly and rudely that he had dated a crazy woman. Now, in the South, we're used to such. It's actually a common practice. But west of the Mississippi, it's a bit different.