My mother probably had the most influence on how I became to be who I am. The person who shaped her was her mother, Belle Coker. When I was growing up everyone called her “Mama Coker” or simply “Mama.” And, indeed she was a mother to everyone in various ways.
. . . the professor said, “you should keep composing.” His words kept echoing in my mind. Just who was this person? What did he know? Why should his words change my life?
The PBS show Finding Your Roots spurred my interest in learning about my heritage and where I came from. My parents never talked much about their parents, grandparents, or any other relatives—I knew only a few things about my grandparents. Both grandfathers died when I was young—I barely remember meeting either of them. Several years ago, I set out to answer the question: Where did I come from? Looking for my connection to the past seemed not only interesting but important.
Do you send Christmas cards every year? I admit that I am not consistent at sending cards. I want to send cards, I think about it, and in my mind I plan to send them . . . unfortunately, some years (most years) it falls by the wayside. However, I love and appreciate the cards I receive from others. They are displayed on the buffet so I can enjoy them during the season. Often, along with the cards, there are Christmas newsletters folded and tucked neatly into the card. Exploits, successes, and vacations are shared—a looking backward at the past year.
The other day on a local news program, I heard the newscaster say in a report that a certain school principal was an “escape goat.” This brought many fanciful images to my mind. Was the principal a literal goat? If […]
Often I step outside and take pictures. Sometimes a beautiful sunset lures me outdoors—or the vibrant colors of autumn leaves beckon me to come closer. While I am walking around, I always look for things that aren’t so obvious—something small or hidden—perhaps interesting in shape or color. These pictures remind me of things for which I am thankful. They are images of Thanksgiving and of thanks-giving.
Is there such a thing as too many books? I guess it depends on who you ask—ask someone thinking of moving or downsizing—ask someone building more bookshelves. For heavens sake don’t ask anyone with a simple, minimalist perspective!
One morning on my way to work, I was driving the “scenic” route. It is a narrow, hilly, curvy, two-lane road through a neighborhood. As I rounded a turn, there was a woman and her dog in the middle of the street. The dog was on a leash and she had obviously been walking him. They were stopped and she was frantically looking toward the other side of the road.
It was a busy, heavy traffic morning (as usual) driving to work in downtown Birmingham, Alabama. A yellow school bus pulled in front of me. I was dismayed. It is hard to see around them and it is also difficult to see the traffic lights above them. Before long, we were stopped at a traffic light near the Vulcan statue.
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