I am most saddened by the lack of empathy that some folks have. I lacked it, too, in my ignorant youth. But you grow up and your thoughts on things like that change.
I have decided that it isn't grooming that I or any typical Southern woman have, it is more appropriately termed as "polish."
Be sweet. What a powerful parental teaching.
When it comes to knowing affairs of the heart, it's not a good idea to bet against me.
When it comes to the many books stacked around my house, don't call them clutter. They are treasures.
It's hard to believe that a person who teaches literature would not have read the Southern classic.
It was a sweet sight, no doubt. My heart is always drawn to God's animal creatures, especially those who have found themselves abandoned young.
Making me learn how to succeed on my own was a lesson my mother an father taught me that wasn't very "rotten" at al.l
Several years ago, I befriended a woman in Cincinnati but then you know that, don't you? I've told you all about Miss Loretta.. If you're new to this column, I'll fill you in. She is the widow of a Cincinnati policeman. She did not marry until she was 37 because
Learning of my daddy's rough times growing up made me appreciate my childhood days all that much more.
Even though he came from California, my old friend Jim had a way of connecting to and understanding Southern folks.
My friend got the role of a lifetime -- a small part in a movie starring Dolly Parton -- but I don't mind taking some credit for pushing her in that direction.
Mama's wedding ring a sparkling -- and poignant -- reminder of her.
Sometimes this old world gets crazy enough that it drives the sane insane and the easy-going folks to swear.
When it comes to inspiration, I'm hoping that opposites really do attract.
When it comes to Southern cooking, your biscuit pan says a lot about you.
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
By not listening to what everyone else thought, my friend found a love of a lifetime.
A friend of mine who has a penchant for sending along lovely, thoughtful gifts out did himself a while back.
After 30 years, Debbie and I finally settled our disagreement.
My grand kids can call me anything but.
Sometimes it can be just like the movies.
A selfish, but needed, act.
The Great Depression taught us lessons we're re-living today.
Jerry and I were talking the other day. We've known each other since the day I was born, he having entered this earth the day before I did. It was there in the hospital nursery we first met and the friendship has endured through the years.
The birth of a calf is one of the simple joys in life.
Not too long ago, a friend of mine discovered rather abruptly and rudely that he had dated a crazy woman.
Until the day he died, Daddy had one prayer about his children that he prayed constantly. Probably every day of his life.
You go to the funeral home to pay respects and run into people you haven't seen in ages.
One morning, I received an email from a reader who began by explaining that her 81-year-old mother was a devoted reader of this column and my books.
One night I was doing an appearance in a town where this column runs. A woman waited in line to speak to me and brought a clipping of that week's column for me to sign.
It wasn't long ago that a friend of mine -- a West Coaster no less -- got onto the subject of country music. Some he likes, some he doesn't, he said. Then, he laughed and recalled a song he had recently encountered.
Oh, the ironies of life. My godmother and I were going somewhere one day when she said, "Did you read the obituaries this morning?"
Just when I thought I knew most of what there was to know, or at least that which was mostly worth knowing, about what is alluring to men about women, I uncovered a stunning new truth.
I wondered the other day how a mother could even think that, let alone say it. But then Mama was a woman who defied exact definition. She was strong, smart, courageous, sometimes outrageous and, above all, ruled by a faith that was simply unbendable and unquestionable. That part of her was definable and clear: She believed unyieldingly in an Almighty God who never left her side. Even when it could have seemed that He did.
It is one of the great mysteries of life. Why are some things so hard? Why, if some things are meant to be, is it so difficult sometimes to make them happen?
A few weeks ago, I was on the phone with a friend who lives in Las Vegas. Suddenly, out of the blue, he asked, “Is Easter this Sunday?”
One night back in the summer, Louise, Rodney and I stopped to see Russell and Neva, whom we have all known in one way or the other for decades. Yet, we go ages without seeing each other. It’s a crying shame, as Mama would say.
In digging through the material remains of what I consider to be my heart’s one and only home, I have smiled repeatedly, even chuckled out loud on occasion, at Mama’s thriftiness.
In my life I’ve done some crazy things, things that defy reason and in retrospect lead even me to say, “What was I thinking?”
The other day I took a short cut down a back road, the likes of which I had not seen since I was a child in petticoats and Mary Janes and rode the big, yellow school bus.
It is my strong and abiding philosophy that good springs forth from the midst of whatever bad happens to us. In the recent days that now trail behind me as time spent sweetly, I have luxuriated in the good that came from the water line break that practically demolished my childhood home.
It sounded like a great idea at the time. Most of my ideas do. “Hair-brained scheme” is what Mama sometimes called them.
His name was Ricky, and though I remember the gift he gave me that Christmas 30 years ago, I don’t recall his last name. I wish I did.
There was a man I knew once, who lived for a good time. Work, he believed and ardently practiced, was only good for providing a means to an end, the result being that of his vigorous pursuit of wine, women and song.
Daddy always believed that the good Lord should be thanked for the hard times as much as He was praised for the good times.
My friend, Linda, is one of those kind of friends who drift in and out of my life. The kind of friend that I see infrequently but when we gather together over lunch or dinner it's as though we've had coffee together every morning for the past six months. Our conversation isn't constant but our friendship is.
In a moment of not thinking perfectly clear, I agreed to sit on a panel composed of several women for a television show. The idea was that we so-called “experts” would answer questions posed by guys who wanted to know about the inside thinking of a woman.
A while back, I was on a book tour when my publicist called to say I had been asked to cook on a television show.
It’s getting to the point that I don’t believe my own eyes or trust what my ears hear. Sometimes it feels like I’m starring in the old movie, “Gas Light,” where the world is conspiring to make me think I’m crazy.