It’s the morning after, and I now have another hurricane under my belt. Read more
Last Sunday afternoon, as I aimlessly puttered around the house in my nightgown — not even in my pajamas — I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and was taken aback by the sight of my totally out of shape hair and the frumpy gown I was wearing that was large enough to cover my recliner.
Due to a series of mishaps, such as a truck breakdown and other untimely events, I found myself driving down Ocean Boulevard at 6:20 this morning taking my son to his job.
I’m an avid early morning fan of a local talk radio show featuring Dave and Leanne who are my constant companions during my16-mile drive to work four days a week.
Agoraphobia — extreme or irrational fear of entering open or crowded places, of leaving one's own home, or of being in places from which escape is difficult.
Who, you might ask, is Ashley Graham?
Besides immensely enjoying excellent BritBox murder mysteries on my TV while I quarantined, I have found another source of pleasure that I might never have discovered had it not been for the pandemic.
As I woke up this morning to a chaotic world, as I usually do when I’m troubled, my thoughts turned to my parents and how I wished they were here to tell me everything’s going to be OK.
On Friday, my son Jeff and I took a little road trip. My destination was Georgetown, only 39 miles from home, straight there and straight back.
I don’t know how the conversation started, but somehow this week I found myself discussing whether home economics is still being taught in today’s institutes of higher learning.
Back in February, before we awoke and found ourselves in a world that had changed overnight, my grandkids Collin and Madeleine and I were making plans for our summer vacation that would start the day after school was over for the summer.
“Gardening season is off to a great start: I planted myself in front of a TV four weeks ago, and I’ve already grown noticeably.”
My son Jeff was surprised Sunday evening when he heard me laughing aloud while a Netflix murder drama was taking place on our TV.
About this time last year, I was making reservations and traveling plans for a trip to the Smoky Mountains with grandchildren Collin and Madeleine, my best-ever traveling buddies.
My son Jeff called me this morning, full of elation because he received two installments of the promised checks the government is adding to unemployment insurance benefits.
The coronavirus pandemic that is sweeping our nation — along with nearly all the other countries in world — is frightening and life-changing.
The changes to our daily lives that have recently taken place, due to the coronavirus pandemic, have been a real blast from the past for me.
Last week, I suffered through an experience that left me with burning red cheeks and a blood pressure that sent the numbers climbing.
I’m a skilled online shopper. Everything from vitamins to Skecher shoes may show up at my door any given day. In fact, a couch is scheduled to be delivered to my house tomorrow and I haven’t been near the Rooms To Go furniture store that is only about a mile from my house.
OK, it’s like this.
Recently I made a vow to myself that I would stop telling people how old I am. I had two reasons for doing this— first, I no longer get the reaction of “You don’t look a day over 50,” and second, I feel like I might be using this age thing in order to be coddled and cosseted, and a strong fe…
For an 83-year-old lady, I’ve been having a strange urge — I want to get my ears pierced again.
I took a four-day trip back to my beloved Smoky Mountains this past weekend.
In the last few months, a change has been taking place in my life — a change so slow I have scarcely noticed it.
In the last few months, a change has been taking place in my life — a change so slow I have scarcely noticed it.
During the 13 years since I began writing a column, several times I have mentioned the fact that expressing myself in this way is very good therapy.
Recently, during a visit with my granddaughter Jade, she told me that she especially loved one of the pictures hanging on my wall that I had painted years ago. The artist in me was thrilled that she liked the creativity of the piece, and the grandmother in me determined that I would make sur…
Though time has mostly forgotten it because all the people who knew it and lived it have died, it’s hard to deny — mainly due to the effect it had on Daddy throughout his life.
Hooray — this is the last week in May, which means school will be out next week and then the week after that is vacation time. I can’t wait.
Memorial Day will be celebrated Monday. Once again veterans of all ages, from many different conflicts, will be acknowledged and honored for their bravery in defending freedom for the citizens of our great United States of America.
For the past few years, Tink has been writing and producing shows for the Hallmark Channel. And one thing has been an astounding awakening for us: Hallmark viewers are devoted and immensely grateful for family programming.
Sometimes it’s hard to find a place to write. For me, it is. Inside the house, I’m distracted by bills to be paid, papers to be filed and laundry to be done.
I think about myself a lot, probably much more than I should. But, believe me, becoming an 83-year-old woman involves a massive amount of changes in one’s body and also in one’s thought processes.
It’s strange to me that I have grandchildren who never knew my mother, especially knowing how much she would have loved them.
One of Mama’s constraint refrains was, “None of y’uns realize how much I do for this family. When I’m gone, y’all will all realize it.”
From your childhood, do you remember the story, “The Princess and the Pea,” by Hans Christian Andersen?
One of my most memorable, enjoyable weekends occurred at least 10 years ago in the sleepy, time-frozen town of Selmer in west Tennessee.
Forty-three years ago, I loaded up my Plymouth and moved from the mountains of North Carolina to the coast of South Carolina.
Something nudged me the other day and sent me to a closet where high on a shelf, tucked back in a corner, was a collection of Mama’s gatherings.
Not that it should have mattered. But I’m Southern so it did. It mattered a lot.
It was my junior year in college before I had the unfortunate experience of meeting, for the first time, a man who did not keep his word.
I can hear what you are saying to yourself — “There she goes talking about recliners again. The woman is clearly obsessed.”
You don’t forget a man like Dr. Calvin Hanrahan. At least I can’t. I wonder, from time to time, if he remembers me.
If you drive past my house early in the morning — about 7:30 a.m. that is — and again at 6 p.m. or a little later, a strange sight will grab your attention.
Since I will turn 84 when my birthday arrives in November, I feel it is past time to put my affairs in order.
Tink is like a child with the mail. He can’t wait to get it. Since there’s always a chance that there’s something in there that is going to ruin my day, I don’t mind waiting. At. All.
Yesterday, as I was half dozing, and half listening to TV during the wee hours of the morning, of course the channel playing was the ID show — true stories of murder and mayhem.
Many years ago, I was visiting an elderly woman in a nursing home. I did not know her well but I knew she was lonely so I’d try to stop in from time to time.
Yesterday, as I was half dozing, and half listening to TV during the wee hours of the morning, of course the channel playing was the ID show — true stories of murder and mayhem.
Do you want to know what I have been purchasing lately? Are you curious about whatever I have been looking up online?
To put it in the words of my country kin: In 19 and 35, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed an executive order that created the Rural Electrification Administration.
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