Not a day goes by that I don't think of Mama or do something the way she taught me.
It was somewhere near the end of summer when it just come to me that perhaps my writing days were over. That it was time to just give up the ghost and move on from making a living as a writer and just settle into handling daily problems.
Before Thanksgiving, as I 'juned' around the kitchen - a mountain word Mama used to mean "fast moving" - preparing for company, it occurred to me that I should invite Jerry.
It is a blessing of a life to know common man philosophers. Those people, though not formally educated, are plenty smart when it comes to sizing up life.
It is, I believe, a distinct and unique trait of the South the way we carry on long conversations with people we are passing in the loaf bread section of the grocery store or in the checkout line.
Not long ago, I watched a couple of documentaries on ESPN about the Southeastern Conference called, "SEC: Storied."
One day during lunch, a friend and I were talking about the murderous felons we know as Tink quietly listened.
More than any other region, Southerners love nicknames.
Back in the autumn as the leaves began to hint of enchanting oranges, yellows and reds to come, we took a Monday off and headed to the state fair.
For at least 20 years, maybe 25, Mama planned her home-going to heaven. Not a week - and sometimes not a day - went by when she did not use her impending date with mortality in some way.
A friend said something the other day that has clung like mist to the crevices of my mind. She's soon to turn 70 and this is what she said:
Here, I'll announce something I've never admitted publicly. I love going barefooted. It's how I was raised.
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.
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As a child, I was captivated by emotional stories and how words strung together had the power to make me feel happy, touched, sad or ...
At the beauty shop one day, I was flipping through a magazine and half-listening to the local happenings.
We were driving to the Georgia coast through little towns in which few live and even fewer know. It was near Appling County, I believe ...
Since the beginning of our Southerner/Yankee union, I have kept a list of places Tink should visit to fully experience the glorious South.
We were eating lunch as the American Queen riverboat pulled out of port, having just returned from a morning-long excursion to the Battlefield of Vicksburg.
Behind the little house where I spent a happy childhood, where I toted books from one room to another, where I knelt by my bed ...
It did not turn out as I intended.
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