My ex-husband, Ron Thompson, used to say I was the only person he knew that could wear ten colors below the ankle.
Last Independence Day happened to fall on Sunday, a day of worship for many Americans and, as usual, I was at ushering at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral that morning. Because of our country’s deep tension between worship and patriotism, I felt sorry for our dean who, in her sermon that day, had to find the balance between celebrating the gospel and nationalism. She found the common ground in the word “Freedom.”
A month ago, while flying home from Miami and landing in Atlanta, I felt a terrible pressure in my ear that had me close to screaming out loud. The pain was excruciating and left the right side of my face sore and achy for a few days.
It is that time of year again: when you find me hot, dirty and breaking my nails in our shipping department.
Kids complain about school and grown-ups complain about work. But, when gone from your life, you realize how much you miss the socialization and the opportunities that working and learning afford you.
Oh, it is so nice to be able to shake hands, hold babies, and eat out, again.
This week, an old friend and former roommate from my twenties came to stay at my house along with her daughter-in-law and two grandchildren.
This past Sunday proved to be an experiential lesson for me in America’s current social and global threats. And, as with all realizations, the more you learn, the more you realize you need to learn. It is never as simple as you would like it to be.
As I have written before, I don’t consider myself an influencer. But, every now and again, I feel obliged to share a shopping tip, like when I posted about easy and everyday-wear wrist weights I purchased.
During my ole’ lady swim class, I overheard a fellow participant complain that she was suffering mentally and blamed it on a lack of routine brought on by Covid-19’s restrictions. I told her I was suffering from just the opposite … too much routine.
This is hard to believe: I have been blogging since 2004! I used to blog once a month but, a few years back, my marketing staff pushed me to blog more and share my business knowledge.
I have never seen Arkansas’ local TV meteorologist, Barry Brandt, so happy. He appeared almost jubilant as he pointed to the snow-covered map and expounded on snowfall statistics that he clearly loves.
When I overheard my daughter telling someone that her “PJ game was strong,” I had to laugh and thought, “Right now, that’s true for everyone.” Gone are the days of dressing up and going out. Now, a big outing is masking up for a run to the grocery store and back home for a night of cooking or lounging in freshly washed PJ’s with a good book, hard puzzle, or mini-series on the boob tube (that’s a TV for you youngsters).
The CDC recommends not traveling unless you absolutely must; and if you must, be smart about it. Weighing these recommendations, I thought about my upcoming and necessary trip to Miami, Florida. Should I rent an RV and drive? With a pull-along bed, bath, and kitchen I could quarantine throughout the three day drive down. It seemed like a responsible way to travel.
How can I not talk about Wednesday’s siege on our Capital and its possible effect on the flag business?
I know buying a new car is a luxury, not an investment, but that does not keep me from purchasing one. Recalling the evolution of one’s cars is a lot like tracing the evolution of one’s life.
What good is a blog without honesty? Who wants to read about a perfect person living a perfect life? Personally, I want to watch the crazies: The Osbourne’s, Trump, and daytime Soaps. By watching other poor souls struggle and make mistakes, I feel better about my own actions and the crazy voice (I like to call Devil Speak) in my head.
For many of us, this Christmas will be different. As I sit and think about my growing grandchildren, I reflect on Christmases past.
I’m not good at remembering proper nouns: people’s names, places and events. But I am good at remembering all the other sentence structure that make for good conversation and storytelling.
I love flower arranging, cooking, and being outdoors, but gardening is not my jam. The ground is just too far down there, and it wreaks havoc on my nails. But my son, Gray, loves the soil and the science of plants. He gardens without gloves!
Well, I finally did it. I fulfilled a promise to my late girlfriend, Sarah Smith, and had the dreaded colonoscopy. The diet modification for this procedure begins a week in advance and, on the day before, you are instructed to consume only liquids. This is some good advice, because that night’s prep is eventful, and not in a good way.
You know, mothers know everything. Early on, I knew -and my mother knew- my first born, cherub-like son was probably gay.
A month or so ago, I could tell Grady needed a vacation, so I planned what I thought would be an easy get away to the nearby Mountain Harbor Resort on Lake Ouachita. It’s a place full of memories for our family.
Lying face down, nude, with my eyes closed, the masseuse said, “I invite you to relax, concentrate on your breathing, live in the moment, and love yourself.
As my modesty fell away, I floated away.