To be honest, I was more than a mite worried. I was plenty worried.
It often amazes me how many words of kindness and encouragement I receive for the stories I tell.
You may be surprised to learn people sometimes disagree with me.
Sometimes, I look across our yard and sigh somewhat woefully, "Too much of that stubborn red Georgia clay shines through." I think, "Oh, one day." I have been thinking this for six or seven years.
Hollywood, more often than not, gets it wrong about the South in movies and television. When they do get it right, we Southerners are amazed and appreciative.
A friend, an only child, was talking about cleaning out her parents' house after the death of her father.
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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An email arrived in the middle of the night in August. It said my precious friend Randy Parks, one of the dearest friends of my ...
The honorable Zell Miller of Young Harris, Ga., was raised by a remarkable mountain woman.
The other day I had something on my mind, a situation we just encountered with someone we had sought to help.
The other morning, I called one of my best friends. I had a bit of news as well as a piece of advice I wanted ...
A few years ago, a gentleman went to a lot of trouble to write me a simple letter he sent to the newspaper where he ...
The dread of death, I have come to know, is as fierce and unrelenting as a tornado in full destruction mode.
When the Chattanooga Better Business Bureau hired me as the keynote speaker for its annual luncheon, the president and CEO was very specific on what ...
On a day that I was visiting someone in a nursing home, angels (disguised as caregivers) came in and requested I step out while they ...
All my life, as long as I can recall, Mama saved things.
A few years back, I was interviewing Celia Rivenbark, a noted Southern humorist and a friend of mine, on public radio.
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