South Carolina Governor Henry McMaster announced this morning that South Carolina will advance to Phase 1B of the state’s COVID-19 vaccination plan beginning March 8.
Tomorrow is V day — the day I’m finally to receive my first vaccination, the one they say will help me fight off the dreaded COVID-19 or make it less serious if I do become infected.
Before you get the idea that I’m going to write a “woe is me” column, rest assured that I’m not seeking sympathy, nor am I moaning over old age and all that it brings with it — well, maybe just a little, but at 85, I’m entitled to a bit of moaning.
At Trinity United Methodist Church in Conway you can find a small white building called the Cordie Page house. It’s used by the church for small gatherings.
Last week, writing my column was an emotional experience for me as I shared the connection I felt to my mother while rummaging through some of her possessions I hadn’t seen before — notes to herself, letters she saved, religious writings she cherished and old greeting cards.
I was a busy girl last night. After much thought and indecision, I finally completed my Christmas shopping — that is except for a couple of gifts for individuals who have failed to give me even the slightest hint of what they’re needing or wanting.
Due to an early Thanksgiving print schedule for the two newpapers I work on, I was given the gift of five whole days off from work with the holiday right in the middle of this little vacation.
This granny is learning a whole new set of words everyday as this pandemic keeps everyone close to home, and we are missing our interaction with the rest of the world.
I’m a radio head — not a member of the English rock band Radiohead — but a devoted listener to radio when I’m in the car traveling back and forth to work four days a week.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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…