The dog had only been mine a few weeks when he began to melt … unravel … disintegrate … whatever. I had no idea what was happening.
While the sun and her children slumbered, Rubye Victoria moved gently about her quiet little kitchen. She reached beneath the sink for her favorite mixing bowl - the ceramic one with a bright red cherry painted in the bottom. She removed the cloth that covered the bowl and the remnants of yesterday's batch of biscuits. Her hands moved instinctively. There was no need for measuring or guessing. Rubye had been making biscuits since she was 7 or 8 years old and her routine was as natural as breathing.
Lois Wyrick wanted to see me. Several people told me. I knew about her, sort of. But I didn’t really know her and couldn’t imagine what she wanted with me.
The Ford Fairlane had seen better days. It looked nice enough – baby blue with a dark blue interior. And what a bargain! It could travel more than a week on one tank of regular gas.
Ask anyone at Woodward Academy about Skipper and they will smile and share their favorite story. She is quite popular, even adored by practically everyone. The janitor sneaks her mango pits, one of her favorite treats. She is a beloved part of the Woodward family, even though she has never worn a uniform or paid one dollar toward tuition.
Long black cars have made me nervous since a convoy of them turned into our driveway in 1964. Doors opened and men in dark suits swarmed across the property. I was 8 and old enough to feel the fear and hostility in the air. My mother cried in a back bedroom. My father sat on a wagonload of bailed hay and watched the proceedings with a rage carved so deeply on his face that the remnants linger after all these years.
Lifelong United Methodist Ed Wyrick’s passion for flying has endured war and peace and a world of changes
Pammie Perry was the kind of girl who probably applied lipstick while sliding through the birth canal. She was as shallow as a kiddie pool and as practical as ruffles on a catfish. She was a serial beauty pageant stalker who seemed better suited to “Toddlers and Tiaras” than Scarritt College and the ministry of Christian Education. And, in one of the most perplexing pairing of personalities in history, she was my roommate.
Two cell phones ago, I was introduced to my first Global Positioning System. Amazing stuff! I can enter my destination and, within seconds, a disembodied voice literally tells me where to go. From a car to a star, information from afar! My Android connects with a satellite in a far-flung corner of the heavens and pinpoints my exact spot in the vast universe. It not only tells me where I am, it tells me where I am going. My GPS has a generic female voice that sends me forward. She even recalculates if I decide to flex my independence and follow a different road.
Stephen Long needed a job. He had a heart filled with music and a fresh Reinhardt College diploma, but he stepped out of his cap and gown and into an economic crisis. He actually had a contract as a band teacher in Roswell. But the dream job vanished when he was one of approximately 800 elementary band teachers terminated by Fulton County in an effort to save money.
Customer service! These two terrifying words are often a necessary evil when my computer has a nervous breakdown. To reach Customer Service, I press multiple buttons until a disembodied voice assures me that my call is very important but all technicians are assisting other customers. The voice tells me to hold and that my approximate wait time is only 11 hours and 42 minutes.
Several years and many miles ago, I attended my first Annual Conference session. The ink was barely dry on our April 5, 1986, marriage license when I was invited to my first Clergy Spouse Luncheon.
My husband Jerry walked through the front door and sat his briefcase next to the tall grandfather clock. I was preparing supper and heard only part of the conversation.
The world is a sad place when you are 5 years old, have no money, and your mother’s birthday is two days away. He would make her a birthday card, of course, but he wanted to do more. His mother was sad and slept a lot. “I’m just weary of winter,” she said. He sensed something was terribly wrong, but didn’t know what to say or do.
My mama, Gloria Lee, was the unofficial “Keyboard Queen of Coweta County” during the 1950s through the 1980s.