“Which one should we try?” I ask my friend Julie. After touring a beautiful custom home in a new neighborhood not far from where she lives, we are hungry for another. Down the row of enormous houses, we found two more balloons anchored by open house signs. With only time to look at one of them, should we choose the painted brick on the left, or the stone structure on the right?   “Let’s do the one on the right,” she decides. We slide out of her Audi and admire the boxwood hed

“What should we do for New Years Eve?” I fear if I don’t fully embrace the most festive spirit at the chiming of midnight, the rest of the year may be doomed to the same level of dullness. My husband responds with a shrug.   I know it’s the last minute to be planning. Most people made reservations or sent party invites long ago. I never seem to think ahead for New Years because at our house, we are under constant party pressure from October 31 to January 10: Dan’s birthday on

My sister Faith and I find ourselves with four or five hours to fill in Tupelo, MS. This historic Southern city is a little over an hour from our Alabama hometown, Vernon. It was an infrequent destination for us growing up, but one that offered a bookstore and a slice of Vanelli’s authentic pizza. Today we are on a different mission; after a couple of errands, we set out to discover the charms of this cute downtown, and play tourists in Elvis’s backyard.    The brick building

In first Thessalonians 4:11 Paul urges his readers to “. . . make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands, just as we told you, so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody.”   This scripture so aptly describes my mother, Jo Seay, one who embodied Paul’s teachings in her quiet, respectful ways through her whole life.    As a child, Jo’s life reflected the hea

My “Autumn in New York” has nothing to do with Ella Fitzgerald’s words, but the wistful longing tone she gave her lyrics, mirror my mood....

It is no small feat to fling your leg over a bicycle seat any given day, to strap on a helmet and go for a little ride of, oh say 100...

If only there were a way to perfectly preserve the sights I’ve stored in my mind’s eye these four days in Paris. The beauty of this...

My father affectionately calls our hometown of Vernon, Alabama, “The Little Town that Time Forgot;” an homage to Garrison Keeler’s Lake...

My father was a Marine serving in Vietnam in 1967. I can remember living in Vernon, AL while he was away. I also remember my brother’s...

Is there a dish that defines your upbringing? Your regional identity? One you’re willing to fight for should someone dis your dish’s...

My parents always allowed me full access to their bookshelf. I don’t remember when I started selecting from their collection. Maybe...

Out the living room windows, my eight-year-old eye spies a magical sight. Half-inch flakes float lazily, meandering slightly right and...

I can’t imagine life without indoor running water.  When I try to picture myself dependent on an outhouse, a chamber pot, or levering a...

I am lost in the labyrinth of my own thoughts.  Revisions have my mindset lingering, hovering above my story, circling and recircling its...

For most New Jersians living through our “Extreme Drought Conditions,” this means watching their lawns slowly fry or their water bills...

I’m feeling pretty bougie walking the sidewalk into Lake Placid on my own today. I take time to admire the perennials in front of The...

I gaze out the window and watch an enormous brown oak leaf float silently to join her sisters on the ground.  That’s the problem with...

I look around the science lab I call my second home.  It’s in order for the few minutes remaining before my first class arrives;...

I am old enough to walk around the corner from my parents’ red bungalow on Lincoln Avenue and cross the street to school by myself, but I...

I wish I knew how many times I tried to rein-in my off-task third and fourth graders with the expression, “We’re writers during writing...