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.
Whenever I take out my biscuit pan - and every Southern cook worth her salt and grease has one - I can't help but shake my head.
One day at lunch, I ran into a beautiful older woman, a friend from years past, whom I hadn't seen in quite a while. She had changed very little since I first met her when I was in college.
A couple of years ago, when I deemed it absolutely necessary to cross the big pond and investigate my heritage that had been seeded in Northern Ireland, I had the good fortune of being introduced to a renowned historian who, through greater good fortune, has become a friend.
When Nix, the unpredictable, funniest kid in our family, was 4 years old, he found himself in some bit of trouble, though we've now all forgotten what it was. Only the punch line lingers in our minds.
Several years ago, I was in Talladega for the NASCAR race and had stopped by the No. 3 truck to see Richard Childress and Dale Earnhardt. Earnhardt, as usual, was picking and poking at me over one thing or the other.
We all need to be worried about the health of the postal service and, as good neighbors, we all need to pitch in and do what we can to keep the mail comin'.
It's me. Dixie Dew, again. Y'all who read this column regularly know that I am Ronda's adorable and svelte (though she writes differently) dachshund. This is the third time I've guest-written this column, but since it's Mother's Day, I'm giving her the day off. This is my gift to Mama. She's been working on a tight deadline for a new book so she's earned a rest.
Someone wrote to complain about my grammar. This isn't new, though it doesn't particularly irritate me. This gentleman was especially kind in his admonishments, noting first and foremost how much he enjoys my writings.
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.
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.
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