To me, Mother's Day always seems a bittersweet celebration. Even when I was young, not yet married or a mother myself, I was well aware that my own mother's thoughts were not so much on the flowers I gave her on her special day, but on her own...
For sure the Deer People (as Nyel calls our hoofed ruminant friends) have been super active in our yard this year. We know that because they have left their calling cards EVERYwhere and have eaten every bit of deer candy within reach – roses...
I've been wondering… is anticipation the opposite of memory? When you begin to lose one, does the other disappear too? I thought I'd check the internet to see if there might be a study or two on that relationship. OMG! Try dozens! With fancy...
I wonder if Jimmy Kemmer knows that we were supposed to be brother and sister. Our grandparents – mostly the women I think – had it all sorted out that Jim’s father, Roy, would marry my mother, Dale. I don’t think romance was ever on the horizon...
My mother gave up driving when she was about a year younger than I. She cut up her driver’s license and sold her car and became a big believer in Dial-a-Ride. She also took advantage of every “do-you-need-anything-at-Jack’s” offer made to her by...
The use of colorful language runs in our family. Not the colorful sort that seems to rage rampant in print and behind those bleeps on television. I mean expressive without being offensive. My grandfather Espy, for instance was pretty famous for...
Now that I have reached a somewhat venerable age, people have begun to ask me what my secret is. I flatter myself into assuming that they mean I seem oh-so-much-younger than the numbers suggest – “Younger than Springtime” Gordon used to say – and,...
Yesterday was a Yellow Rain Hat Day here at the beach. It was the first time in ages, and it felt good. It seemed forever ago since I had wakened to that familiar pitter-patter on the roof and the banging of a loose something-or-other out by the...
We are getting fewer – those of us who actually remember December 7, 1941. I was five-going-on-six and not only do I recall the date clearly but I have indelible memories of many of the peripheral things that came along with World War II – like the...
Both Nyel and I remember when my mother arrived at our house on the bay clutching a bouquet of camellias just beyond bud stage – small bright blossoms full of the pink promise of spring. “These are the first of the year,” she said. “They...
Yesterday I received a package by priority mail. I’d like to say “a mysterious package” but it wasn’t really. Susan Haynes had written me an email (subject line: Dale’s Hat Coming Your Way) from her home in Birmingham, Alabama that said: Dale's...
My mother, Dale Espy Little, was known for her hats. For the reception after her 2009 memorial service, I decorated our porch with all the hats that she had left behind and invited the women who had come to her “goodbye” to take one/ Her favorite...