Ronda Rich's blog

Grooming and the lack of it

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Not long ago, I was in Los Angeles and visiting Tink on the set of a television show that he was executive producing. We sat side-by-side in director chairs, watching as the scene was set up and actors took their place. I looked across Tink to see a woman studying me carefully. I smiled.

She tilted her head then asked, “Are you Mrs. Tinker?”

I smiled bigger. “Yes, I am.”

She nodded, silently studying me. “I thought so. You’re Southern, right?” There was no smile, no social engaging from her. I felt like a rat in a laboratory examination.

Again, “Yes, I am.” Read More»

Now you be sweet

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When I was growing up — probably well into my college years — Mama’s last words as I walked out the door were always the same.

“Be sweet.”

Not even when I started driving and she should have said, “Be careful,” did she deviate. Somewhere along the way, though, she gave that up. Perhaps because she decided I would never be sweet or perhaps she thought I had finally learned it well enough. But, truthfully, I think it was because she finally switched to “Love you” as I left. Read More»

A gift of giving thanks

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This isn’t really a Thanksgiving column. It’s more of a Christmas column. Well, actually, it is a Thanksgiving column because it’s about being thankful enough for your blessings that you share them at Christmas.

I thought I’d share these thoughts early enough that you could put them into practice over the next month if you would like. Over the last six months, three of my favorite people have left this earth to step into the presence of the Lord. Their absences mean that I’m going to be losing two favorite holiday traditions. Read More»

The bet - a bad one for him

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One evening I was sorting through clothes in the bedroom while Tink, settled in a comfortable chair, was (as usual) fiddling with his phone. A message he read triggered a story.

He began to tell me a brief story (men leave out a lot of details) about a guy we know and a woman he had recently been dating. There was nothing particularly special about the story unless you are a woman wise in the ways of other women.

“What?” I asked as I took a dress off the hanger. I heard what he said but I couldn’t believe what he said. He repeated it. Read More»

A home for my friends

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In this house of wood and stones that I call home, there are books scattered and stacked hither and yon.

Some might say this house is cluttered with books, but I would never be that irreverent for cluttered seems to mean “unnecessary” or “junk.” Not one book I own would be categorized as either.

Books spill through the rooms, starting on my nightstand where Bibles and reference guides reside. On a leopard print footstool by the door, there are two dozen books, all I have purchased but have yet to get around to reading. But I live in hope. Read More»

‘Gone with the Wind’ novice

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When I breezed into the beauty shop amidst the chatter of voices and clatter of hair dryers and curling irons, I noticed the thick book dropped casually in a chair and it struck me as a bit strange. It’s rare to see anyone reading that book these days. It was probably the first time in decades that a copy of it has seen the inside of a beauty shop.

My attention was quickly diverted as Sandy gaily called out, “Hey there!” and thus we began our own chatter, adding to the commotion and chaos. Read More»

The baby calf

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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.

Nicole and I were working out in her basement one afternoon when Rodney stomped down the stairs and ambled in.

“I got a pen,” he said to her. “Where do you want me to set it up?” Read More»

My rotten parents

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One day I asked a friend how her son was doing in college. She smiled, then began a discourse on how he was enjoying his field of study and what he could do with his degree when he graduated.

Then she sighed deeply. “I’ve got to find him an internship for this summer.”

It was the next morning, in truth, before it occurred to me what rotten parents I had. Neither of them ever thought once, let alone twice, about finding an internship for me. They threw me out to wolves and made me find one for myself.

Boy, what rotten parents. Read More»

Optimism and Miss Loretta

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Several years ago, I befriended a woman in Cincinnati, Ohio, 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 when she was 20, her mother died at 42 and left a passel of children behind. The youngest was 2 years old so Miss Loretta stepped up and took over. Only when the last child — a boy — was raised and on his own did she allow herself to find love. Read More»

Picture of a poor childhood

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A picture — even one old that has faded from black and white to soft gray — can a tell a story, long and true. That one certainly did.

It was made somewhere in the late 1920s and showed three children, ragamuffins really, who did not have the happiness that most children show in photos today. Read More»

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