My kingdom for a dead snake

Dawg Days are upon us. Go on…draw that syllable out just like the heat and humidity that threatens to stretch clear to Halloween. It’s too hot to talk fast. Too hot to think fast. Too hot to do much besides indolently stand in the yard dribbling precious cool water on flowers as parched as you…

Guilty pleasures

Last Friday night, Husband and I had the good fortune to eat dinner at Satterfield’s in Cahaba Heights. From the cheese plate to dessert, I have to say that every little mouthful was just divine, but I most especially enjoyed one of my guiltiest pleasures – rabbit. Now Husband doesn’t eat anything that once had…

Back to school

Today is the first day of school. New clothes, binders, pencils, and paper. New hope for a better year, nice friends, and teachers who aren’t too hard. A chance to reinvent yourself for the year. Find your niche. Make your mark. Change the world. The possibilities stretch out before you like the line in the…

Why I love crime (The final installment)

My mama once said to me during one of our frequent political discussions, “I don’t believe in the death penalty. I’ve known plenty of murderers, and they weren’t all bad people.” Plenty of murderers, I wondered? Plenty as in “existing in ample quantity or number?” My sweet mama? Well, yes. And come to think of…

Why I love crime (The redux)

A doll is boring. And vaguely scarey with her fixed, blinking eyes. She just lies there. Staring. A fingerprint. Now there is something flat interesting! Here’s what a doll has: hair plugs. Here’s what a fingerprint has: whorls. Which sounds more interesting to you? Baw had had the misfortune of contracting tuberculosis and spent many…

Why I love crime (Part I)

I love crime. That is not to say that I enjoy it when acts of crime are perpetrated on the innocent. In fact, I hate and despise any and all acts of victimization, think it is bad bad bad, and believe that criminals should be thoroughly punished in a manner befitting their charge. What I…

Essence of lantana

My parents drank film noir cocktails – martinis (always gin, never vodka), sazeracs, B&B, scotch. When we were over the Bay, there would be the occasional cold beer. Wine, however, only appeared on holidays, and champagne was reserved for wedding receptions, and then, only those not held in the church hall. When I moved to…

The end is near

As I got dressed this morning, I realized the end is near. The end of summer whites, that is. Pulling on my white, linen skirt, it occurred to me that I need to get all the wear I can out of my white skirts, white capris, white shorts, and, of course, white shoes, before the…

What I am not

I am a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother, a friend. I am a writer, a painter, a teller of tales, tall and true. I am the Queen of all I that see, but also the maid, the gardener, the chief cook and bottlewasher. I am many things, but there is one thing I…

Fish are jumpin’…

Ahhh…Summertime. My summers were spent at the home of my maternal grandparents, Granny and Baw to me, under the watchful eye of Sarah, their housekeeper and my companion. Most of the morning, I would wander around their expansive yard, playing house under the scuppernong arbors, catching tadpoles in the goldfish pond, or picking blackberries with…