Rich: Facing the new year

A new year has arrived and a half-ragged one lies behind, reduced now to memories. It seemed, at times, I couldn’t enjoy the wonderful things popping around because of such bone-deep sorrow brought on by the home-going of loved ones.

Rich: Looking back at Christmases past

When I was a child and even through my teenage years, Christmas night and the following day were the saddest time of the year. The anticipation of presents, church pageants, and holiday cheer was swooped away in such a short time.

Rich: Rodney the storyteller

Rodney, my brother-in-law, is one of the South’s best storytellers. He doesn’t tell stories in the typical Southern manner of embellishment, lyrical phrasing, or extreme expression. He tells them in such a casual way that the story becomes the king. Not the storyteller.

Rich: The dried flowers

Sentiment is not something I was taught. It was born in me. Both my parents were hardscrabble Appalachian folks where sentimentality was a luxury that could be afforded no more than new, wool coats for the entire family or a simple, gold wedding band for my grandmother. But me?

Rich: Southern Gothic Murder (Final Installment)

Seton Tucker is the reason that I all a sudden packed a suitcase on Sunday night and said, casually, to Tink, “I’m going to South Carolina for the Murdaugh trial tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Be safe.” He is used to my spontaneous ideas. He never interferes or tries to make sense.

Rich: A Waffle House Thanksgiving

For about 27 years, I hosted Thanksgiving – long before I knew John Tinker – for family and friends who did not have a place to celebrate the blessings (and sometimes even the tribulations of the past year). It was a full week’s work.

Rich: Southern gothic murder (Part Three)

There is not a Southern Gothic story, murder, or else, without the Devil in a starring role.

Rich: Just a little talk

Tink enjoys looking out a window to see me meandering through the yard, talking to imaginary people. Usually, I’m working out a story but, not infrequently, I’m talking to someone special. Recently, I was out in the yard, picking up limbs from River Birch trees which prune themselves, constantly.

Rich: The Tam

In our kitchen, the large round table is often embarrassingly messy, covered with mail, packages, newspapers, and magazines. Try as I might, I cannot keep it cleaned off because the amount of daily mail we receive is astounding, sometimes six inches high.

Rich: The ugly shirts

When Tink came South, toting all his worldly possessions, included in the myriad boxes were some of the ugliest shirts I’d ever seen. Until Tink began to happily pull the beloved plaid shirts from storage, I don’t believe I had ever looked at a man’s shirt and thought, “Yuck.”