With the New Year's Eve champagne barely behind us, 2018 unfolds full of promise and challenge.
I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, even though technically I have already had one.
It was a few weeks before Christmas in 1981 and all the halls of Richton Elementary School came alive with handmade Santa Clauses made from construction paper, scissors and glitter.
Just last night while lying in bed with my Great Dane, flannel pajamas and the classic holiday movie "A Christmas Carol" playing, I sipped hot chocolate from my favorite Rudolph mug, the one with the chip on it.
My Christmas list to Santa reads quite differently than the one I penned under the supervision of my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Jeffcoats, all those years ago.
"Look at lights! Look at lights!"
She was too young for much of a vocabulary, but her exuberance transcended the need for words.
There are so many things I miss about Thanksgiving now that the light in my little stone cottage on Dykes Chapel Road has dimmed.
Well, that's according to Groucho Marks. This much I know: The books we read while children stay with us our whole lives.
One of my favorites is "Frog and Toad Are Friends," written and illustrated by Arnold Lobel and published in 1970.
Birthdays are the best!
Mine is this month, and I am ecstatic to be celebrating it with the best of friends in one of my favorite cities in the world, Washington, D.C.
My mind is a cauldron of memories bubbling over, especially appropriate for Halloween. Who does not remember his or her favorite costumes from childhood?
We need more simple acts of random kindness.
I was taught first by my daddy, a proud veteran, then by my elementary school teachers that the flag is a symbol of everything American and should be treated as such.
The fair is coming to town!
There has always been more than little bit of Peter Pan in me.
Southerners know it all too well, the lush green vine that coils, winds and climbs over everything in its path from trees to houses -- kudzu.
All dogs go to Heaven, and you will never convince me otherwise.
The peacock rests in shards of broken glass.
What has the magic power to transport us through space and time back to a moment, whether happy or sad?
Mark Twain might have said it best: "Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter." Well, Mark, lately it's beginning to matter.
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