Ronda Rich's blog

Mama’s ring’s new sparkle

Ronda Rich's picture

It would never have occurred to me that it would mean as much as it has, never cross my mind that I would cherish it as I have. I suppose that’s what makes it even more meaningful.

Mama wasn’t fancy by any stretch of the imagination. A small cake of cornbread and a cold glass of buttermilk often sufficed just fine for her supper, a home-grown, juicy tomato thrilled her beyond measure and presents were often wrapped with masking tape. She was sturdy and solid, not fancy or frivolous. Read More»

Legacy of compassion

Ronda Rich's picture

Daddy and Mama both spent a lot of time seeing after the needs of others. They comforted, called and cooked for those who were, in some way, suffering.

And if it came down to it, and sometimes it did indeed, Daddy gave away the last dollar in his pocket to someone in need.

“He needed it more than I did,” he would say. “Never turn your back on a soul in need.”

As he was oft to say, “You can only help someone when they need help. All the other times that you think you’re helping, you’re just pretending for the sake of your own conscience.” Read More»

Crying and cussing

Ronda Rich's picture

This is how bad times are getting: Claudette has taken to crying and Grace Ann has taken up cussing. It’s like living in a science fiction film. It’s like visiting a foreign country.

I’ve never been a big fan of unwanted change. I resist it. So, when Claudette, tough as nails, broke down and cried and Grace Ann, who never met a Bible study she didn’t memorize, cussed and it both happened in the same week, I was stunned speechless. I walked around in a daze for two days. Read More»

My new Yankee muse

Ronda Rich's picture

When the column appeared where I lamented that my longstanding muse, Claudette, had lost a significant amount of humor due to medication so I needed a new muse who could inspire my writing, several stepped up to volunteer for the newly vacated position.

One plea was particularly engaging. The email came with the subject line: Pick Me. The note read: “Standing at the back of the room, waving my arm frantically, jumping up and down, shouting, ‘Pick me! Pick me!’ I would be pleased to be your muse.’ He signed it, “Your Muse In Waiting, Michael.” Read More»

Southern pots and pans

Ronda Rich's picture

Whenever I take out my biscuit pan — and every Southern cook worth her salt and grease has one — I can’t help but shake my head.

It is not, as my friend Karen would say, “a purdy sight.”

I have more than one, of course, for when guests come and I need to make two or three pans of homemade buttermilk biscuits, but the main one is large, round and very black from all the years of baking in 500 degrees with Crisco smeared generously on the surface. Read More»

Ignore what they think

Ronda Rich's picture

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.

She’s one of those lovely Southern women whose voice softly lilts with each word and her mannerisms are subtly small and lovely. She looked so pretty. Her silver hair was cut stylishly, sweeping across her brow and framing her bright blue eyes.

Our chatter at first was courteous with each asking how the other had been and mentioning what we knew of mutual friends. Read More»

Hume & Scotch-Irish

Ronda Rich's picture

A couple of years ago when I deemed it absolutely necessary to cross the big pond and investigate my heritage that had been seeded in Northern Ireland, I had the good fortune of being introduced to a renowned historian who, through greater good fortune, has become a friend.

Dr. David Hume is all eat up, as my people like to say, with the history of those wily Scotch-Irish and from his post in Belfast continues to research, write and lecture on what some see as an odd collection of humanity. Read More»

Dale was in a hurry

Ronda Rich's picture

Several years ago, I was in Talladega for the NASCAR race and had stopped by the Number 3 truck to see Richard Childress and Dale Earnhardt.

Earnhardt, as usual, was picking and poking at me over one thing or the other. I threw back a quick quip over something and he chuckled merrily, characteristically lifting one corner of his lip and mustache as he snickered. Read More»

Let’s keep the mail comin’

Ronda Rich's picture

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’.

In full disclosure, my sister is a postmaster. She does not know about this column so she has neither encouraged nor influenced it. Secondly, I have keynoted at national postmasters conventions across the country from Philadelphia to Ft. Lauderdale to Las Vegas to Anchorage. As far as I see it, this only makes me more an expert on what I’m about to say. Trust me. There’s a story in it. Read More»

Grammar vs. truth in telling

Ronda Rich's picture

Someone wrote to complain about my grammar. This isn’t new, though it doesn’t particularly irritate me. This gentleman was especially kind in his admonishments, noting first and foremost how much he enjoys my writings.

“I would never presume to edit your excellent work,” he wrote. “But I would like to recommend a book for you.” It was a book on proper grammar.

He was so gentle in his suggestion that I took the time to write back and explain that, basically, I know better than I do. I just choose not to do better. Read More»

Recent Comments