Like any self-respecting Southerner, it's hard for me to pass up reading a well-written obituary. Especially when it runs in the Wall Street Journal and begins by saying she was "a dash of Southern class in a raucous old boys club."
It is the absence of simple things that has made life so complicated. Those simple things cost nothing yet can make you feel like a million bucks.
When our friendship was new and still most interesting, Poet sought to impress me. But when the new wore off, Poet cast me into the ring with his other friends who are familiar and comfortable, so there is no longer a need to impress.
Unlike many people, I'm not a maker of New Year's resolutions. Mainly because when I see the need for change or improvement, I resolve to fix it then, even if it's July 23 or Oct. 1. I don't wait until the first of the year.
Last year's best present was from neither friend nor loved one. It was gifted to me by life. One of those rare lessons that grows more beautiful in memory as time passes.
There is a friend I have who cannot, for the life of her, tell a story.
For some reason, I've always loved full moons. Every time I see one, I stop in my tracks, fully absorb and appreciate its beauty and then thank the good Lord that I lived to see another beautiful full moon.
It's true. Some things you have to see to believe. And then, even though you're certain of the reliability of your own eyes, you don't believe it.
Thanksgiving is a time to come together and celebrate a family's beloved characters, the ones who give us many stories to declare and laughter to share.
Funny how situations in life can slip up on you and turn your feelings completely around.
Every trip to the beauty shop is, for me, an adventure in some way. And without fail, it's immensely entertaining.
It wasn't intended to be a long conversation, but I should have known better than that. No call to Poet is ever abbreviated.
Sometimes two old souls can find each other and form a friendship that is anchored in rock solid respect and like thinking.
In Belfast, in the stunningly gorgeous building dedicated by Prince Edward in 1932 (he who abdicated), where the Northern Ireland Assembly convenes, I learned why I can never be president of the United States.
The dawn was barely breaking, the morning just beginning to wrestle the new day away from the black night as the train traveled with a jolting purpose from Dublin to Belfast, Ireland.
Many people have crossed the path of my life but only one crossed it from three different directions.
Sometimes a man, despite his best efforts, doesn't find his destiny.
Carrie called the other day, and I grabbed the phone just as I was coming in from the garage. I dropped my purse at the foot of the stairs and sat down on a step to talk.
When the New Year arrives every year, I like most look forward to the next 12 months filled with promise, opportunity and a chance to reform from bad habits.
It was late in the summer of my parents' lives that I was born into a family with three children well on their way to being grown and done with home.
Coming home one Sunday from the family dinner after church, I said out of the blue, "I feel like we should volunteer for vacation Bible school."
My people, as I have long said, were raised on hard times in the Appalachian foothills. I don't know I had a grandparent who ever saw the sum of $500 at one time or even held a hundred dollar bill in hand.
It was over Sunday dinner that my sister told me what I did not know.
It started accidentally. Some good ideas and memorable moments are like that. They aren't planned. They're born, bringing with them an ability to nudge a way naturally into our lives and become a tradition.
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