Sallie Satterthwaite's blog

Superman and Hometown Newspapers

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These short stories really have nothing in common except they are being published on the same day…
I don’t remember what aroused my interest in Superman a few weeks ago. Was looking for something else and lost track of time – when, “Look! Up in the sky!” There he was, on my laptop screen. No, actually it was a TV movie I had never watched. So I did, and found it winsome. Read More»

Whatever happened to...?

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This column originally ran in April, 1996.

Not many of today’s Peachtree City residents remember a time when we did not have a real police department. Our earliest policing came from the Sheriff’s Office -- the county supplied a car and support; local businesses paid for a deputy.
Granted, he didn’t have much to do, but people felt good knowing he was out there.

Ralph Jones was mayor and Chip Conner on city council when the city began developing its own department, and by the time Chip became mayor, in 1970, we were well on our way. Read More»

What goes around...

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This is based on a reminiscence made at New Year’s Day 1984 and demonstrates that – as usual -- “What goes around comes around….”
Picture, for a moment, your school days' diagram of the earth orbiting the sun, and note that its path has no milestones, no square marked "Go" that signals the beginning of a new year.

It was humankind, not God, that divided the endless ellipse into months and years with beginnings and ends, to account for the apparent rebirth of the sun.
Even that is arbitrary. Read More»

New Years, 2014

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My late friend and beloved editor Dave Hamrick summed up a writer’s puzzlement thus paraphrased):
“I can write my heart out with blood, sweat and tears, and dread to come in to work on Wednesday morning. But then I grab some notes and cobble something together long after deadline, just to get it in, and someone will tell me (through tears) that the column packed such a powerful message, it changed her life.” Read More»

Irony abounds

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Dave and I have always thought we were the sole lovers of Christmas fruitcake on the planet. Every year, we have become used to seeing stacks of the little ruby-studded fruitcake that made Claxton, Georgia, a household name.

Fruitcake seems perfect for that not-too-pricey last-minute Christmas gift. After all, they keep virtually forever, especially when soaked in rum, and the fact that you can give them away secures their role as the answer to the everlasting question, “What should we give the mailman? Or the kids’ piano teacher? A next door neighbor? A fellow employee?” Read More»

Griz at Christmastime 2013

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Not so very long ago, the following conversation took place between – oh, you figure that out. I’m too embarrassed….

Griz: Hey! Watch out who you’re tossing. You almost missed the chair.
Sallie: I’m sorry. I gotta get the bed made. Got a million things to do and time’s running out.

G: Yeah, yeah, I know. We go through this every year. You get into such a snit. What’s the big deal anyway? Christmas comes the same day every year, and nothing you do is going to change that. Read More»

What? Me Worry?

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This column originally appeared in the Jan. 8, 1996 Citizen.
Any other time, we'd watch news accounts of horrific weather like that in the Pacific Northwest last week, and shake our heads. "Why would people want to live in that kind of climate?" we'd ask each other, reveling in balmy Georgia.
Any other time, we'd see pictures of cars stalled along a far-off Interstate and wonder why these fools had got themselves into a situation where they had to abandon their most expensive possession to struggle on foot to shelter. Read More»

Time to care

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Winter’s soul-chilling winds have already staked their claim on the calendar, and any balmy respite we may enjoy from now until, oh, say March, will be illusory at best,
Time to load up on crisp red apples from the Georgia hills. Time to finish the wood stacked since last summer, time to move it onto the porch on its dry fibers ready to burst into warmth and brightness on a rain-dark night.

Time to gather family close again, to touch each others’ hands, reminding us of old bonds and new dreams. Time to celebrate life. Read More»

Edisto Escape

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Sometimes high expectations are doomed by real life. Like watching your grown daughters become friends, and grandchildren become brothers, in the space of half a day.
And I became the queen of Sheba.

We met at “Hurricane House” in Edisto (or Edisto Beach or Edisto Island – we never were sure of the municipal parameters). Second floor, of course. It seems that everything in Edisto is built to allow freaky high tides and hurricanes the right of way. Read More»

Off to Edisto

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She got here. The flight was right on time, and she even got to sleep for a little while. One good night’s sleep and she was feeling good, except for some pain in her shoulder from a nasty fall in Düsseldorf.
Having had a bit of experience removing sutures when I worked for a medical practice, I didn’t doubt for a moment that I could get the tiny thread her physician’s assistant left in.
“Tiny thread”? How about “microscopic”? Read More»