It was, of all things, a call to jury duty that reminded me powerfully of the beauty of a sweet hometown and the joy that comes from staying put where the Lord put you in the first place.
Last summer, I was telling Tink about an adorable town a few hours away.
There isn't a day that passes that I don't remember Mama. Many times when she crosses my mind, I am doing something she taught me how to do.
The Great Depression shaped my parents. In the years to come, it shaped my life as well.
It is with earnest intention and optimism that I arise each day and assemble my "to-do" list.
When I was a child and we visited my grandparents, I knew their standard of living was different from ours.
It would be, I decided, a nice gesture of Southern thoughtfulness if I made a dish of my famous macaroni and cheese.
It is now that I have reached the age where the wiser generation, those who taught me and mentored me, are starting to take their leave of this world. And now I search both their lives and deaths for lessons.
From the moment Tink visited the Mississippi Delta, he began to long for a seersucker suit.
While studying for a degree in journalism, I learned the basics of telling a good story and answering questions before they could be asked.
The little house in which I was privileged to be raised - the same one I wrote of recently - needed its annual deep cleaning.
It was with remarkable bravery that Daddy plunked down $1,000 of hard earned, long saved money in 1956 to buy a few acres of pasture with a large, tree-shaded creek that twisted through it.
Two Bibles sit, always untouched, on the fireplace mantle in our living room.
When we decided to visit the few remaining members of Tink's family who live in Connecticut and New York, we chose to drive.
It was about 1 a.m. when our alarm system woke me up with the beeping sound that it makes when one of the exterior doors is opened. The beep was coming from the front door.
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Bree, the 8-year-old daughter of my niece Nicole, was riding shotgun with me one day in Tink's pick-up truck.
About halfway through my morning run just about the time droplets of 'dew' were running down my face and I wasn't looking none too ...
One Saturday morning, I ran by the bank to pick up a checkbook that had arrived and found the place to be unusually busy.
It's hard to find a good mud hole these days.
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