Ronda Rich's blog

Easter memories and hope

Ronda Rich's picture

It is each of the many Easters of my life that I remember more clearly than any other holiday.

Christmases blur together with only a few standing out in my memory such as the one when it snowed all day, the year I lost my voice completely, and the two times that I wasn’t home – one working in Washington, D.C., and another in London. Read More»

Southern manners

Ronda Rich's picture

There are many things I love about the South. We’re fiercely patriotic. We’re neighborly. We’re storytellers without equal. We’re unabashedly and unapologetically faithful. We’re proudly hospitable.

But here’s what I love just a little bit better than all the rest: We believe mightily in courtesy and manners.

Now, this isn’t to say that only Southerners are well-raised or that all Yankees and other non-Southerners are rude. That would be untruthful because I have met some extremely discourteous Southerners while I know some beautifully well-mannered Yankees. Read More»

Precious memories really are

Ronda Rich's picture

In the tiny country church where I spent most of the first 22 years of my life, where I found the Lord at the age of 11, where, without fail, I had the leading part in every Christmas pageant and where my daddy laid down the law in more ways than one, we sang hymns from a brown songbook and a green one that were filled with the haunting melodies that have penetrated the Appalachians for many decades. Read More»

Keep thy word

Ronda Rich's picture

Not long ago, a friend of mine was huffing, puffing and carrying on something awful about an injustice she had recently suffered. She had dealt with someone rather devious and the result was, well, rather devious.

“Rest assured,” I told her with the full confidence of a self-anointed know-it-all, a tone I learned well from Mama. “He will get his comeuppance one day. The score is always settled. Always.” Read More»

Mama and her money

Ronda Rich's picture

It was a couple of years before Mama just up and died without warning and when we least expected it, that I was visiting her one day.

I recall it precisely.

I was sitting on the edge of the sofa and she was in her well-worn recliner, sipping coffee. A look came over her face that was always specific to a well-thought out announcement. She tilted her head to the side, raised an eyebrow and said, “If I knew that I’d live long enough to get enough use out of it, I’d buy me a new bedroom suite.” Read More»

Living the American dream

Ronda Rich's picture

Somewhere along the line, it seems, people have stopped talking about the American Dream.

I can’t recall the last time I heard anyone, in person or through the media, remind folks that we live in the greatest country on earth and that here in this land of profound freedom, opportunities abound, and no one, regardless of race or level of economic upbringing, is held back from grand and lofty aspirations. Read More»

A boy named Juan

Ronda Rich's picture

Thousands of days, all those filled with clouds, rain, snow or sunshine, have passed since that time, yet the lesson sticks stubbornly to my heart.

For two years, I spent Tuesday afternoons volunteering as a mentor in an elementary school where every child was poor. An astounding 96 percent of them qualified for free or reduced price lunches. The vast majority of them had traveled with their families from a desperate country where, though it’s hard to imagine, they had been even poorer than the life they found in America. Read More»

A heroic family

Ronda Rich's picture

It happened recently. The 20th anniversary of the death of stock car racer Davey Allison. Maybe you remember him. Maybe you don’t.

But I shall never forget him.

The first time I met him was when he won an ARCA race at the track then called Atlanta International Raceway. I was a sports writer covering the event. He was happy but his joy was marred by the death of another driver that day. The next time I saw him was a couple of years later in Talladega. Never have I seen anyone as happy, just bursting with unbridled joy, as Davey was that day.
Read More»

Raised to shop better

Ronda Rich's picture

Tink had been in Los Angeles for a week, so that morning before his plane left LAX, it occurred to me that a good wifely thing to do would be to welcome him back to the Rondarosa with a home-cooked meal.

It would be, I decided, simple but grand. After deciding upon a vegetable lasagna and a four-layer red velvet cake with coconut cream cheese icing (nothing says, ‘Welcome back South’ better than red velvet cake) I sat down at the kitchen table to make out the grocery list. Read More»

Men of war

Ronda Rich's picture

We had a funeral at church the other day, which was not unusual. Rodney laid his work aside and came to direct the choir. That, too, was not unusual. I sang in the choir. Now that was very unusual.

Because it was a Saturday and many faithful choir members, including my sister, had obligated to something else a few weeks before, Rodney was a bit worried about having enough people to sing “I’ll Meet You In The Morning.” Though everyone knows that I can’t sing, I can dress up and put on a black suit and move my lips so I quit smack dab in the midst of cleaning my closet and off I went. Read More»

Recent Comments