For a long time, I’ve driven past that house and thought how happy it looked. Isn’t it funny how you can look at a house and know that laughter rings within its walls? Read More»

Now, we all knew that wasn’t going to work. Not for one cotton-picking minute did we think that those two could say “I do” and keep that vow until one of ‘em stopped breathing.

Not unless, of course, one of ‘em was the reason that the other one exited this life.

“They’ll kill each other,” a friend, old and wise and familiar with them both, had said. “He’s a raging Cajun and she’s just plain mean.” Read More»

A friend, en route from Charlotte to Atlanta, stopped to spend the night with me. I knew she needed more than a comfortable bed. She needed a hot meal. That’s Southern hospitality as we’ve taught to practice it — the comforts of our home shared with a friend.

Deb is a country girl, raised in the mountains of North Carolina so I felt pretty confident that I could cook up a country dinner and she’d appreciate it. And she did. Read More»

It’s been almost 30 years since Debbie and I, as school girls, began the great debate. Over the ensuing years, we have each stood firmly on what we believed to be true. There was no compromising, moving or being reasonable.

One night all those years ago when I was hanging out at her house, which I did a lot in those days, I commented, “Did you know that Solomon was black?” Read More»

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 Mama. She’s been working on a tight deadline for a new book so she’s earned a rest.

I have another reason, too. It’s probably a bit selfish but let’s face it – it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there so a dog’s gotta take care of herself. Read More»

I have always believed — old fashioned though it may be — that when it comes to courtship, men should be the pursuers. The way that I see it is that a woman’s place is to wait on a man’s attentions, not throw herself in front of him, jump up and down, flail her arms and make sure he notices her.

Trust me on this — no good comes from this kind of bass-ackwards (as Mama would say) pursuit. Read More»

When you’ve known someone since you were teenagers and have shared deep secrets ranging from boys to money to worries and wishes, you think you know them well and that there is nothing they can do or think that will surprise you.

That would not be the case with Karen, one of my two best friends.

I know a lot about her. I know how she looks without make-up with her strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. Only those closest to her, gets to see her like that. Read More»

I never took my daddy for the sentimental kind. And in this assessment, I was not alone. He was a man’s man with a generous heart and compassionate spirit but sentiment seemed to have no place in his life.

I suppose it’s because his young life had been so hard, so downright sorrowful that he closed his heart and mind to looking back.

For that’s what we sentimental people do – we look back. We find the tender parts of the past that trails behind us and we hold them dear forever in our memory. We keep those times alive. Read More»

Over lunch, Debbie and I were having a conversation about someone we knew in our youth and were wondering what had happened to him. This is what happens when lifelong friends gather – we trip back in time and memory and ponder what or who has come and gone. Read More»

It started with Mama. All good stories and jokes in our family, including me, started with her.

Like many women, Southern ones particularly, she enjoyed reading recipes. When she died, I mined through hundreds of recipes torn from newspapers and magazines. I saved every one, organizing them, and even tried an incredibly good recipe for beef roast. Finally, after years of trying, I can make a delicious rump roast. Read More»