Not long ago, I was in Los Angeles visiting Tink on the set of a television show he was executive producing. We sat side-by-side in director chairs, watching as the scene was set up and actors took their place. I looked across Tink to see a woman studying me carefully. I smiled.
When I was growing up - probably well into my college years - Mama's last words as I walked out the door were always the same.
One evening I was sorting through clothes in the bedroom while Tink, settled in a comfortable chair, was (as usual) fiddling with his phone. A message he read triggered a story.
In this house of wood and stones that I call home, there are books scattered and stacked hither and yon.
When I breezed into the beauty shop amidst the chatter of voices and clatter of hair dryers and curling irons, I noticed the thick book dropped casually in a chair and it struck me as a bit strange.
It was a sweet sight, no doubt. My heart is always drawn to God's animal creatures, especially those who have found themselves abandoned.
One day I asked a friend how her son was doing in college. She smiled then began a discourse on how he was enjoying his field of study and what he could do with his degree when he graduated.
Several years ago, I befriended a woman in Cincinnati, Ohio, but then you know that, don't you? I've told you all about Miss Loretta.
A picture - even one old that has faded from black and white to soft gray - can a tell a story, long and true. That one certainly did.
There is a friend of mine - one of the heroes I have known and loved - who is fascinating in the life lessons he shares and the accumulation of wisdom that seems to come so easily to him.
It was all my idea. As immodest as that might sound, it's true. Now that my friend, Karen, has made it to the big time, she should be reminded that it all started with one of my hare-brained schemes.
It would never have occurred to me that it would mean as much as it has, never cross my mind that I would cherish it as I have. I suppose that's what makes it even more meaningful.
Daddy and Mama both spent a lot of time seeing after the needs of others. They comforted, called and cooked for those who were, in some way, suffering.
This is how bad times are getting – Claudette has taken to crying and Grace Ann has taken up cussing. It's like living in a science fiction film. It's like visiting a foreign country.
When the column appeared where I lamented that my longstanding muse, Claudette, had lost a significant amount of humor due to medication and I needed a new muse who could inspire my writing, several stepped up to volunteer for the newly vacated position.
It happened in Memphis. A lot of history and interesting stuff occurs in that magical city that sits grandly next to the Mississippi River. Elvis held court there, the blues grew up there and barbecue is queen. Elvis, of course, is still king.
The waitress set down the cup of coffee and I poured cream into the hot, black liquid while quietly reflecting, pondering something.
My parents told great stories.
Recently, I was in a bookstore with a friend. We stopped at a table near the front of the store and it was loaded with different books that had such obscene titles that many of the words were expressed as "@?*#."
Mama was stubborn. "Set in her ways," is what country folks call it and boy, was she. When she made up her mind, nothing stopped her. Especially when she set her jaw and punctuated her declaration with a firm nod of her head. If she also threw that crooked forefinger in your direction, you knew it was set in stone. Destined to be.
One day over lunch, my new-to-the-South-but-thoroughly-loving-it husband commented on the choir singing at our church, which is led by my brother-in-law, Rodney.
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