Readers have often reassured me that among their favorite columns are the ones in which I share the wisdom passed down to me by my parents. But just this morning I got to thinking: I have some wisdom, too, that I can share.
To Rodney, my ever dutiful brother-in-law, I suggested that we get a community cow. What with dairy prices going so high and all.
I love small-town newspapers. I'm all for hometown journalism that is the core of communities and the heart of their citizens.
It was an interesting brief I saw in a newspaper industry bulletin the other day.
Mandatory to my mama's generation was the ownership of a deep freezer and a sewing machine. These, remember, were people who believed in self-reliance and independence. You grew what you ate, you froze or canned it and you sewed what you wore.
Now, I've been telling y'all for a few years about the importance of eating your black-eyed peas and collard greens on New Year's Day and how by doing so, you'll have more money in the coming year.
Should the opportunity ever arise for you to deal with a bona fide race car driver on anything having to with driving a car, you might benefit from lessons I've learned. Let me share them.
Brandon heaved the massive bottom portion of the now-famous amber-colored Christmas tree over his shoulder and came quickly staggering down the stairs, trying to make it down without dropping it.
It all started at the beauty shop. Most of women's troubles that don't begin with men begin at the beauty shop. But then, you knew that.
When Dixie Dew's beloved baby sitter up and went to heaven, I found myself in a quandary: What was I going to do about child care when I traveled?
For many years now, Thanksgiving has been my favorite holiday.
My brother-in-law, Rodney, the wizard of wisecracks in our family, was sitting at the island in my kitchen, watching as I put away food from a Sunday school get-together.
When I was a child and given to daydreaming as children often are, I dreamed of what I would be when I grew up. I wanted to be strong, courageous, glamorous and well-traveled. And more than anything, I wanted to tell stories.
Publisher's Weekly, a trade publication for the book publishing industry, is always full of interesting tidbits. Annually, it publishes the number of books sold for each title that sold over 100,000 copies in one year.
I am always interested to see how these numbers shape up.
A woman, over the course of her life, will learn who she can shop with and who she can't.
One of my friends called the other. One of my best friends. There was urgency and distress in her voice.
A few years back, someone I knew ever so slightly died. Though I didn't know him well, I knew him to be mean, egoistical and quite a bully.
My husband was out of town working on location when he called one night and discovered I was still working though the hour had grown late.
It happened a few months back. My father-in-law celebrated, to our great joy, his 88th birthday.
It happened the other day. It's funny how things so simple can remind us of things so meaningful, of those sweets tucked inside our hearts and unknowingly treasured.
My parents, according to the world's definition of "cool," were not.
A few years ago, the magazine I have long loved - Southern Living - changed.
Several weeks ago, I wrote about moonshine runner turned stock car champion, Lloyd Seay, who was murdered in a dispute about sugar purchased to make illegal whiskey.
There are few who cannot say truthfully they miss their parents after death has laid claim to those loved ones. The parents who taught us, scolded us and, at times, annoyed us are never forgotten, never put away on a shelf to be remembered no more.
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