I’m Dixie Dew. If you read my mama’s column weekly then you know that I’m the precious little red-haired dachshund of which she so affectionately writes every week. For the record, and not because I’m a bragger, but I am every bit as cute as she says. If anything, she downplays my cuteness.

That’s one thing she definitely tells the truth about, though some of that other stuff is embellished. Some of it is just a big lie. For one thing, I am not fat. Read More»

It all started at the funeral home. A few other of my misadventures have begun there, too.

For Southerners, though those born outside of the region often fail to understand, the funeral home is normally a gathering place where friendship, stories and even laughter is exchanged. Read More»

My brother-in-law, Rodney, is a farmer of the most admirable kind. He farms, despite the heartbreaks, hard times, hot sun and little pay, because he loves it. Not even the relentless stronghold of healthy kudzu could choke the passion for farming from him. He is devoted to the land and what it brings. Good or bad. Read More»

Southerners tend to be practical folks, at least those of us raised in rural areas that have seen their share of hard times. Read More»

Any Southern woman worth her weight in Martha White Flour has at least one drawer or cookbook in her kitchen stuffed with recipes she has torn out of magazines or newspapers, fully intending to try each and every one of them.

Most of these recipes are never cooked, baked, mixed or thought of again. Read More»

My niece, Nicole, was saying the other day how a quick, sharp tongue is built into our DNA and how we need to watch what we say and how we say it.

If you haven’t already read between the lines, that was her attempt to be subtle and encourage me to watch what I say. Of course, it was a waste of her sweet breath, but I pretended to pay attention and agreed with what she said. Read More»

It wasn’t my idea. In fact, I was so opposed to it that I had to be forced into doing it. I’m still not a happy participant.

My literary agent in New York, dear friend though she is, insisted that I become part of the Facebook community. Read More»

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. Read More»

Since I once called the garage area of the NASCAR Cup Series “home,” working in the sport for several years as one of few women among hundreds of men, folks often ask my opinion on today’s NASCAR. Read More»

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?”

“No,” I replied. “Easter is one month from this Sunday.”

“Oh.” He laughed lightly, embarrassed, I suppose, that he didn’t know. “I was just thinking of the beautiful place where I usually go for sunrise service.”

At the time, I didn’t think much about it but later I thought, “You can tell he’s not Southern for Southerners always know exactly when Easter is.” Read More»