For a couple of years, I had been trying to get Mama to write my column one week.
To be quite frank, I don't remember from where the idea arose. It could have been at the suggestion of one of two friends or - and this is quite possible - it was my own bright idea.
Sophie Rose was not, in the assessment of other women, what you would call "pretty."
It is not certain how we got on the subject but somehow a friend mentioned that when he dies, he wants "What A Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong to be played at his funeral.
Once when I was young and love had broken my heart for the first time, I thought I would never recover from the agony resulting when the bliss had been sucker punched and sent packing.
It would behoove all you men to thoroughly understand one thing: We women normally conduct our romances by committee.
When Ferroll Sams, one of the most beloved writers of Southern literature, was inducted into his native Georgia's Writers of Hall of Fame, he did not let the moment pass without taking the opportunity to underscore one of life's most enduring truths.
The other day I was digging through a box for one thing or the other, when I ran across a picture of my best pal, Karen, and me when we were in junior high and on the student council together.
Dixie Dew and I went away for the weekend to visit our friends Stevie and Darrell in Nashville, Tenn. It was actually Dew's invitation, but I was allowed to tag along.
If a woman is truly fortunate, she will know two distinct dating periods in her life.
Last year, as New Year's approached, a reporter called and asked for my resolutions for the upcoming year for a story she was doing.
A friend and I were just talking about this. Talking about how so many people want to write a book.
Two rather disturbing things happened during our family Easter last year, both of which I hope can be corrected this year.
If you met my cousin, Melissa, you'd like her immediately. You'd be captivated by her porcelain-perfect complexion and straight, even teeth. She possesses an enviable lithe, slender body, which is standard loveliness on that side of my family but somehow chose to orphan me. "Aunt Cindy," one of the family members will say with complete authority. "That's where you got your'n from. She was short and rounded, too." We ...
Dixie Dew and I quit a bank I've been doing business with for 15 years, marking the first time in 20 years that I have closed a financial account.
It happened recently: The 20th anniversary of the death of stock car racer Davey Allison. Maybe you remember him. Maybe you don't.
Tink had been in Los Angeles for a week so that morning before his plane left LAX, it occurred to me that a good, wifely thing to do would be to welcome him back to the Rondarosa with a home-cooked meal.
If New Year's is a time to regroup and look toward the upcoming year, then Thanksgiving is a time to gather and reflect on the year that has passed.
We had a funeral at church the other day which was not unusual.
She was not a pretty woman in the days of her youth. Her lips were too thin, her forehead too high and her eyes so round they seemed to bulge into the lens of the glasses she wore.
For years, I blamed it on those richly royal blue, suede high-heel pumps. The ones with the ridiculously tall, spiked heel and absurdly pointed toe. I was 22 when I bought them, and 36 when I donated them to the Salvation Army.
The woman looked over the selection of books, picked up four and smiled.
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