The first time my stories appeared in the newspaper was in second grade when my teacher had the class write letters to Santa.
I truly feel like a member of my own club lately, especially when surrounded by Millennials and whatever labels we apply to those even younger.
Once in a while, you invest a day of your life and when it’s over, you know it was an incredibly good investment. I had such a day on Wednesday in Memphis, Tennessee.
The azaleas have returned to my neighborhood like old friends.
Word of the day — desensitize: “to make less likely to feel shock or distress at scenes of cruelty, violence or suffering by overexposure to such images.”
“I reckon I don’t have much to give but my stories,” Grandma said to John Boy as she sat on the bed beside him and wished for a better gift to give her eldest grandson.
The church was as majestic as I expected with massive, exquisite windows through which generations have looked in and looked out.
Since I was a little boy, the spins on the ice mesmerized me.
She came to me, not like an angel, but as my angel, her embrace just as I remember.
I wish we could go back to the moments in life that seem to stand still in our minds. Like Cher says, “If I could turn back time … “