You know how it happens. You go to the funeral home to pay respects and run into people you haven’t seen in ages. Many years have passed but yet y’all begin telling stories – always the funny ones – and, there in the midst of grief, you begin to laugh. Read More»

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. Read More»

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.

She handed me the newspaper clipping and said, “You made a mistake.” She pointed to it and said, “You used the wrong word.” Read More»

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 one that he had recently encountered.

Somehow, he had run across the country classic, “Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love to Town.” A bit condescending, he chuckled over its lyrics. He had gotten the title wrong and most of the lyrics but I knew what he was talking about.

“Oh my gosh!” I exclaimed. “That’s one of the great story songs of all times. It’s a classic and certainly not anything to scoff at.” Read More»

Perhaps it isn’t a great mystery of life but it’s certain one of life’s more intriguing questions. At least for us women, that is.

Think about this: Is it easier on your self-esteem to lose a guy to an ugly woman or a beautiful one? Having lost guys in every way possible, I should be able to answer this. After all, I have lost out to beautiful women and once I was jilted in favor of a girl so ugly that even my own father mocked me. Read More»

It started one Sunday when I slid into the third row pew next to a slender man with rumbled silver hair just as the first notes of the organ announced that service was starting.

He wore a blue polyester sports jacket, plaid knit slacks, a crumbled shirt and an incredibly wide tie. He nodded and I smiled, as I noticed that one of his clear blue eyes drew inward toward his nose. A moment later, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a piece of hard caramel candy and, unsmiling, handed it to me. Read More»

There is a seaside village on the coast of Georgia that my heart, in fact my entire being, is summoned to at fairly regular intervals. It is as much home to me as the red clay hills of North Georgia.

I understand why it is so about the mountains. My family, at least nine generations of them, has been embedded in those hills so deeply that it’s hard, impossible really, to separate the land from our souls. There is no dividing line where the land ends and our flesh begins. And St. Simons? Why does it has such a mystical draw over me? That, too, is easy to explain. Read More»

You cannot be a writer without being a reader. It’s a simple observation but no wiser words have ever seen ink on paper. For writers are always drawn to and mesmerized by words. We drink up pretty syllables like drunks depend on cheap wine. Read More»

Haughtiness and arrogance has always perplexed me for I’ve never understood those traits. “Pride goeth before destruction,” declares a book known for pulling no punches.

I have always thought that too many people are not aware of how a twist of fate can snatch away fortune, beauty or health. In the twinkling of an eye, it can all be gone. Read More»

One day, I realized that a guy friend had mentioned a woman several times over a couple of weeks, saying in casual conversation that she had called and invited him to various places.

“She invited me to the ballet on Saturday night. I don’t really want to go,” he said. “But I probably should do it, rather than sit at home.”

This upcoming piece of advice has nothing to do with the story I’m telling but I’ll offer it nonetheless: Women, if you are interested in a man, do not invite him to the ballet. It will not further your romance. Trust me on this. Read More»