RICH: The joy of reading

A dear friend told me that his eyesight is being destroyed by the disease. It is vanishing so quickly that, daily, a bit of it disappears, forever. He now can only see shadows. The only print he can read is sizable, and magnified many times. Still, he has to study to figure out the letters.

RICH: A beautiful life’s final place of rest

It’s been at least 20 years since I visited Winston Churchill’s grave in the tiny English village, a stone’s throw from Blenheim Palace, the ancestral seat of Churchill’s uncle, the Duke of Marlborough, where the history- making Prime Minister was born.

RICH: O come, angel band

It was Friday night. We had just walked in from a supper of hamburgers and Cokes, with all the family, at the Soda Fountain. A friend, Barbara, texted urgently that our mutual friend, Dinah, was being rushed to the hospital. Possibly a stroke.

RICH: An SEC fan

Often when traveling, if someone learns that I’m from Georgia, they will ask, “You’re a Georgia Bulldogs fan?” I reply – this is the unvarnished truth – “I’m an SEC fan. I pull for all the SEC schools and, truth be told, I have a special spot for Kentucky and Vanderbilt during football season.”

RICH: Tink’s heart: she said…he said

In all my borne days, I have never seen anyone who eats like John Tinker. Occasionally, he has breakfast. Sometimes, he has lunch. But, ALWAYS, he starts eating toward the end of the afternoon and does not stop until he brushes his teeth for bedtime.

RICH: Ronda kills me

(This is the first of a two-part He Said/She Said series.) “You kill me,” I’ll often say to Ronda. Whether it’s her wit, her insight, her fashion or decorating style, or the stories she tells, I am endlessly entertained. In the best way, of course.

RICH: Monroeville, Alabama

About 15 years ago, I was zipping down I-65 South, headed toward a press convention that was being held on the Alabama coast. A mile ahead, I saw an exit sign: Monroeville, Alabama.

RICH: The gift of storytellers

As the years scatter behind me like a box of spilled Cheerios, I reflect on the blessings of the storytellers I have known. When I was five, Aunt Ozelle kept me so Mama could work in a sewing plant. At five minutes to 12 every day, she called me to lunch.

RICH: Imitation IS imitation

A decade ago, I launched a new book with a tour that, with three exceptions, took me to large Southern cities and three small Mississippi towns. The exhaustive, two-week tour included Los Angeles, New York City, and the marvelous independent Rainy Day Books in Kansas City.

RICH: Escaping the chaos

The clatter. The racket. The noise. The excitement. The angst. The constant beeping of text messages. The consistent ringing of the landline. It was all too much. Chaos blanketed our normally tranquil home.