Rich: The turmoil of Tink’s eating habits

Everything about the family in which I grew up, was modest. Mama made her clothes and mine and, sometimes, my summer shorts or play dresses were made from leftover scraps. She was thrifty.

Rich: A little girl’s smile

It had not been a good day. Nor a good week. Nor a good month. Or two. Here’s the thing about the television business: It looks easy but few jobs are harder. Working in television can be rougher than the hottest day in a hay field. And much less rewarding.

RICH: The power of friendships

It happened the other day. I was reminded of the richness of my life because of the treasure trove of long, lasting friendships. Kim called to tell me about running into a mutual friend. Bridget called to ask for a small piece of advice.

RICH: To see the thunder

There is a scripture in the Bible. As far as I know, it is not in all translations of the Bible. But this I know for certain: it is in the King James Version. When I was 10, perhaps 11, Daddy preached the scripture from the roughhewn pine pulpit in the tiny one-room mountain church we attended.

RICH: Timothy James

It had been a long day. Not a particularly tiring or stressful one. It was the kind of day where so much happened so quickly that, later you ask, “Did that happen yesterday? Or before?” We were in Nashville for the fourth time in weeks.

RICH: A Gothic Christmas tale

At the turn of the 20th century, and on into the mid-1950s, life in the Appalachians was a tale of black-and-white gothic existence.

RICH: A profound decision (or so I think)

Perhaps you’ll want to sit down for this. It might even be advisable to grab a cool, wet washrag for your forehead in case you feel swimmy-headed over this news. I’m going to start minding my own business.

RICH: The prayer march

The old man shuffled along the sidewalk, his work boots dusty with a hint of red mud clinging to one heel. From the pocket of well-worn overalls, he pulled a red bandana and wiped his nose.

RICH: You’re gonna miss me (when I’m gone)

It was one of Mama’s favorite refrains. One that she used less than some but much more than others. “Y’all are gonna miss me when I’m gone.” She’d nod her head slightly and wink.

RICH: When jury duty calls

Nowhere are the common threads that make up America’s fabric showcased more than in the courthouse in the midst of a vast jury pool. There, the tire store owner sits shoulder-to-shoulder with the high school teacher who is seated next to a grocery store baker who speaks to her neighbor, the farmer.