Ronda Rich

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RICH: A lifetime of bad decisions

When I have a decision to make that I am not well equipped for, I call someone who is smarter and has more experience. When someone wiser than I makes a recommendation, I take it. If it goes against what I want to do, I get a second opinion.

RICH: A salute to all homemakers

In my opinion, there’s nothing wrong with being called homemaker. In fact, I think it’s one of the most beautiful words in the America language.

RICH: Why loyalty matters

When I think back on the days of my youth, that time when I had the privilege of traveling on the NASCAR circuit, it would be hard to pick a lesson learned that was more important than another. But there is one that deeply branded itself in the bones of my being – that of the importance of being loyal in all things.

RICH: Merle Haggard’s treasure trove of stories

May all storytellers learn from such an American master on how to turn our own lives into art.

RICH: Pretending to eat Southern

When business called Tink back to Los Angeles, he decided to take the opportunity to have his annual check-up. When it ended, he called home.

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RICH: Remembering the long, cold winter

They listened and learned from those who went before them and when you think about it, that’s a pretty wise way to learn about things like long, hard, cold winters.

RICH: Listening to Dale Earnhardt’s advice

My Daddy told me: “Choose a side. It’s despicable to see someone who is mealy mouthed and doesn’t stand for one side or the other.”

RICH: In the South, you’re either proud or humble

One thing I have found to be mostly true, as true as any rule can be, is that in the South, you are either proud or humble. There is very little in-between.

RICH: Tales of the hot pink luggage

You know the feeling I am sure. You find something that somewhere back in time meant so much but years have passed and you have forgotten its existence. Then you find it and it’s like running into an old friend who reminds you of happy times.

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RICH: Living in black and white

One Sunday while sitting around the dinner table, Louise and I began to tell Daddy stories, the ones that stretched back to the early days of his preaching life. Since I was born 12 years after he ‘made a preacher’, as our folks said back then, I could only contribute what he had told me about those days not what I had seen.

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