When Nix, the unpredictable, funniest kid in our family, was four 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.
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.
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’.
Someone wrote to complain about my grammar. This isn’t new, though it doesn’t particularly irritate me.
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.
A friend of mine who has a penchant for sending along lovely, thoughtful gifts out did himself a while back. The contents of the package quickly became one of my favorite gifts ever. I called him up immediately.
It’s just funny, I guess, the way I get caught up in the lives of other people, folks I don’t even know. Yet I share their sorrow or rejoice with their successes. And they feel like friends, though most of them I have never met and suppose I never will.
It was an easy phone call to make. I knew it would be. I called my neighbor who lives across the road, not the street mind you for we are country folks, and asked for help.
It’s a funny thing about us Southerners. If a Yankee criticizes us, we haughtily disregard it, muttering over their ignorance.
Smiley cake brings back fond memories of Mama at Easter time.
Perhaps you’ve heard. It’s been the source of newspaper, magazine and television stories as they all pay tribute to the anniversary of the King James Bible.
For a long time, I’ve driven past that house and thought how happy it looked. Isn’t it funny how you can look at a house and know that laughter rings within its walls?
Now, we all knew that wasn’t going to work. Not for one cotton-picking minute did we think that those two could say “I do” and keep that vow until one of ‘em stopped breathing.
A friend, en route from Charlotte to Atlanta, stopped to spend the night with me. I knew she needed more than a comfortable bed. She needed a hot meal.