Southern Fiction
I got a new camera for Christmas. My husband can’t stand to see me struggle over anything, and although I never complain, there must be a look. A frustrated glaring at whatever device I’m mangling into some modicum of acceptable performance. For instance, he gave
Fyi, y’all. My website is undergoing an overhaul – this time not by me, but by professionals. Amen to that! As much as I like plunking around and figuring out themes for a new look on occasion, the end result never quite meets my expectations
Over the holidays it got so busy I believe there were several times my brain and body disconnected. Matter of fact, I know they did. It was like I was on some sort of mental auto-pilot more than once. One of those moments happened when
…in with the new, as the old saying goes. Yesterday I took the tree and decorations down. Some will think, but what about the Twelve Days of Christmas leading up to the Feast of Epiphany? A twelve days of Christmas celebration never took place in
I grew up listening to the old classic Christmas songs sung by Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Bobby Darin, Brenda Lee, Alvin and the Chipmunks (yes, that one!)…the list goes on and on. On Christmas Eve, Mom would put on a stack of records – for
The perfect song – even without those two words reminding me of a certain book. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fOGZJvNa8S4
Right about now? I sure do need me a good healthy dose of Robert Earl Keen.
