We interrupt this column for an important announcement about common decency.
I saw a sign in a store once. Not a sign, really, but rather a little slip of paper taped to the side of the cash register. I was buying some gum.
Somewhere in the Bible it says that God knows every hair on our heads. Comforting, it is, but I have to wonder — does he know about the freakishly long scary ones that appear out of nowhere in the most obscure places and continue to come back time and time again no matter how often we yank them out?
A friend died last week, left this life on a beautiful Easter Sunday.
Why you need a cell phone out in the ocean and other things men don't seem to understand.
It was, in my opinion, awkward.
Call me a rebel. I wore white and it’s not even April yet.
‘Do you know him?” my sister asked and I paused, but only for a moment.
There was a chill in the air as I walked down the hallway, my head hung low in guilt and shame. I slowly turned the deadbolt. The door creaked open and a rush of cold air washed over me as I stepped barefoot onto the brick. I wasn’t ready for this. Not again. Not so soon.
Chinese food. It was a good choice for a Monday night, having just pulled back into town after a long day in Atlanta.
‘Excuse me,” she said and I turned from my perusal of the wall of cute khaki and navy pants to a woman standing near me holding up a blue and tan striped tank top and a blue skirt. “Do you think these look good together? Cute?”
It started in middle school. It was a teacher’s fault actually, a responsible adult, who first introduced me to it. Out of the blue.
He who seeks beauty will find it. Funny how the words struck me recently as I sat on our couch and watched a documentary — not something I can admit I’ve said a lot, mind you.
She was having a hard time.
It was something we just did, sometimes early in the afternoon or late in the day before the sun went down. Most likely it was Sunday, sometimes Saturday but most always Sunday after lunch was done and Shirley Temple was over on television.
‘What did you learn today?” I asked and was met with a look of surprise.
Obviously, the baby was fussy. “What do you think it is?” the man, apparently the father of the little person wiggling around in a blue, padded stroller in the middle of the electronics section of Target, asked.
I remember a lot of them. Bits and pieces, some of them. Memories of Christmas.
“Once you wrote about a comfortable peace at Christmas,” this person wrote. “Please tell us again.”
Damn you, Folgers coffee.
Dear Santa, I know it’s been a while since I’ve been in touch — a couple of decades, at least — and I’m really sorry about that.
There are many truly thought provoking questions in life that render me sleepless.
Consider my soap box officially out and I am climbing up on it. Can you hear me?
Forever lazy. A doughnut ... maybe. And a compliment. Three things that make for a pretty good start to the day.
‘Where is it?” she said, loud enough for all of us around her to hear, three ladies and a little girl standing in the aisle of the drug store.
‘Come on, it’ll be fun!” she said, her eyes wide and her head bopping up and down. She was overly excited, my friend was, trying to convince me to go to a Haunted House over the weekend.
In my next life I want to come back as a calendar maker, the CEO of some big company that puts papers printed with days of the month, of the year, together in leather bound books.
Hurrying not so long ago to make a turkey with cheese sandwich to toss into my daughter’s lunchbox, I had just drawn a knife carefully through the wheat bread hugged creation when I said out loud, “Sandwiches cut on the diagonal taste better than ones cut up and down.”
God winks are tiny gestures that fill your heart with reassurance.
It was a classic case.
There are times when you just need to laugh.
‘Just because she can doesn’t mean she should.”
One of my deepest fears may be coming true. I am becoming a crotchety old woman.
It’s my own fault, I know, for breaking a cardinal rule of good mothering — Thou shalt not ask close-ended questions.
Everybody has their price.Apparently, when it comes to World Series Game 7 tickets at Turner Field in Atlanta, the price my family would be willing to pay involves shaving my head. Not their heads ... my head.
Recently, with little provocation and equally little vigor it was brought to my attention that I am a wimp.
When the time comes, PLEASE be sure I'm dead
It's a well-known fact that some of us women have love/hate relationships with our purses. The perfectly functional little black pocketbook I carry today may tick me off tomorrow and find itself hanging on the hook in the closet while I've gone on to stuff my stuff in a bigger, roomier tote, only to get frustrated two days later because I can never find anything in there and switch back again.
"Call me weird," I said, "but I love to snap beans."The older woman standing next to me paused from picking through the bin of plump yellow squash and let out a little chuckle. "Well, honey, if you're weird then I'm plumb crazy," she said. "Give me a big, old bowl of beans to snap or peas to shell and I feel like it's Christmas. It's a summer thing."
'Good afternoon," you said as you walked past me in the store."Hello," I replied.
It happened so fast. In a split second -- literally, a split second -- my day changed.
There are two kinds of people when it comes to being irritating -- the ones who irritate you and have no clue, and the ones who irritate you on purpose.- Mandy Flynn, Herald columnist
n a little flowered notebook, no bigger than a postcard, are handwritten notes I leave for myself. Funny things I hear. Interesting trivia I come across. Quotes that I want to stick with me.
Godzilla lives in our garage.Okay, so maybe it's not Godzilla, per se, but it might as well be. It is a large -- no, ginormous -- gross lizard that, I promise you, is so big I would not be the least bit surprised to find out that he gets in my car and drives around at night, probably stopping at the Quickie for a honeybun and a beer.
I wouldn't say it was my favorite Dr. Seuss book, but it was one of them.
My phone rang at work the other day and, out of the blue, on the other end was my big brother. He thought he'd call to say hello.
Time heals all wounds ... unless you pick at them.I wanted to be mad at my husband the other day, but I was too tired. I don't remember what he did exactly, but I do remember having the fleeting thought of, "Hmmm, I should really be aggravated by that." But -- sigh -- then it passed. I just didn't have it in me.
I have a habit. It's not necessarily a bad one. I admit that I have done it in mixed company. Many who know me are used to it and pay no attention to me. However, I do still run across the occasional person that calls me on it.
My husband came home from our nephew's little league baseball game last weekend and asked, "Did we act like that?"