Twain once said, "A person who won't read has no advantage over one who can't read." When it comes to writing, I'll spin that a bit: The writer who won't invest thought in the lives of others has no advantage over those who can't.
I'll probably be repeating these resolutions again next year. Just like all my previous resolutions.
"Have you ever told a short story in your life?" I asked one day during one of marathon length. She twisted her mouth tightly as oft she did when annoyed. "If it's too short, it ain't worth tellin'. Why waste the time?"
As Truman Capote, the Alabama-raised writer, often said, "Every Southerner goes home sooner or later, even if in a pine box."
The third, and final, installment, of a look at Charlie Tinker's diary.
A picture can really be worth a thousand words.
As you reflect on your many blessings and celebrate them for Thanksgiving, please think of how you can share those blessings during Christmas. A card, a casserole or a Christmas tree could be the most important gift you give. I guess what it boils down to is this: A merry Christmas starts with a happy, blessed Thanksgiving.
The second installment of my husband's great-great-grandfather, Charlie Tinker, a White House telegrapher who had been friends with President Abraham Lincoln.
The future belongs to both those in age and those in youth. May we all be wise enough to know when to teach and when to learn, for to each, there is a season.
Charlie Tinker, great-great-grandfather of my beloved, was close friends with the 16th president of the United States, Abraham Lincoln. The pair had met when they both lived in Illinois and Lincoln had become fascinated by a new-fangled invention that Charlie had become an expert at the telegraph.
Who man or woman wouldn't want to be rescued? Life is hard. Who of us would turn down the chance to have life easier? Who would put a foot down and say, "No! Don't do something for me that takes worry away!
Nothing makes me madder than folks who make fun of Southern accents.
Putting up a gate in front of our house was more difficult than I imagined. What wasn't a surprise, is that my idea for the design won out.
You can be a good storyteller without being a good flirt. But you cannot be a great flirt without being a terrific storyteller.
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?