“And who does HE belong to?” Aunt Edith said, interrupting Uncle Earl’s story about another WWII veteran who recently moved in two doors down. Aunt Edith and Mama We watched her skinny arm reach out from the corner of the room and extend in John’s direction. “He’s mine,” I smiled. “He’s my husband.”  She turned her gaze toward my mother. “And do we like him?” she said in that beautiful southern accent I always wish I’d inherited, though her throat needed clearing. Mama smiled back and turned to John, “oh, we do, we do.” “Well, then,” Edith said, plain as a butter knife. She returned her arm to her lap and smiled closemouthed at her husband of almost seventy years as if to say, “continue.” He did while Mama and I put out lunch.  “And who does HE belong to?” Aunt Edith said five minutes later, the arm again accusing John of something only Edith knew. “Oh, he’s still mine,” I said, shoving a hushpuppy in my mouth. This line of questioning continued throughout the afternoon. She k...

“I need to check on the fort,” L said a few weeks ago as I unbuckled him from the car seat. “Is it finished?” asked his brother, hopping down from the car. “It’s mostly finished,” I said. “ We still need to accessorize. Let’s go take a look.” Through pine needles, we walked back to the edge of the woods and climbed the ladder to what is basically a six-foot-high, freestanding deck. We take in the 360 degree view that includes a neighbor’s pond, which we didn’t know existed until now. I was excited for them to see it, not only because of the time and expense that had been put into it, but because I had already imagined the games and campouts soon to follow on the platform. (A tent is one of the accessories on our list.) “This is nice,” L said, running to each corner for a look. “Paw-Paw did a good job.”  “He did,” I said, my heart filling up. “That’s so nice of you to say. You should tell him that.” “But we need cup holders,” T interrupted and stretched up onto his tiptoes to see a...

We enjoyed a beautiful Mother’s Day this year; I hope you did. Literally beautiful because we celebrated many of the moms in the family in the perfect place: outside. The weather was mild and the breeze was light, bringing with it the scent of honeysuckle—one of my favorite things. It was glorious, ya’ll.  Last year John and I ate grits and eggs out of to-go boxes with his parents in their front yard, so I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m still basking in the glow of Sunday.  The moms hauled in the goods too: gift cards, flowers, jewelry, cards—funny and sweet. I decided to join in on the gift-giving by making homemade decorated cookies as a take-home treat for the moms. The thought was a good one, but the execution was weak. (You know you have a mess when no amount of glitter can fix it.)  Then I remembered: You know how mothers often receive (usually handmade) gifts that are the worst, but moms have to act like they’re the best? I simply gave these ladies another opportuni...

National Public Radio just turned 50. I listen locally on WFAE in Charlotte where one of my favorite writers Tommy Tomlinson contributes. (Check out his podcast, Southbound , if you’re into that kind of thing.) The publicity surrounding NPR’s anniversary is full of anecdotes about how they made something from nothing. All while covering the news, which included the country’s largest antiwar protest taking place outside their door. (If you haven’t done the math yet, this was 1971.) NPR staff endured unknowns, mishaps, and flubs. Susan Stamberg, the first anchor of All Things Considered , tried to lower her voice like a man’s, which didn’t quite work. Considering their chaotic first day, show director Linda Wertheimer didn’t see much hope for NPR. She said it “was just going to be beyond awful.” When you’re in the middle of pandemonium, it’s hard to see your way out. But here they are fifty years later, chuckling about how far they’ve come. We can’t judge something on the first day...