Rich: Looking back at Christmases past

When I was a child and even through my teenage years, Christmas night and the following day were the saddest time of the year. The anticipation of presents, church pageants, and holiday cheer was swooped away in such a short time.

Rich: Rodney the storyteller

Rodney, my brother-in-law, is one of the South’s best storytellers. He doesn’t tell stories in the typical Southern manner of embellishment, lyrical phrasing, or extreme expression. He tells them in such a casual way that the story becomes the king. Not the storyteller.

Rich: The dried flowers

Sentiment is not something I was taught. It was born in me. Both my parents were hardscrabble Appalachian folks where sentimentality was a luxury that could be afforded no more than new, wool coats for the entire family or a simple, gold wedding band for my grandmother. But me?

Rich: Southern Gothic Murder (Final Installment)

Seton Tucker is the reason that I all a sudden packed a suitcase on Sunday night and said, casually, to Tink, “I’m going to South Carolina for the Murdaugh trial tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Be safe.” He is used to my spontaneous ideas. He never interferes or tries to make sense.

Rich: A Waffle House Thanksgiving

For about 27 years, I hosted Thanksgiving – long before I knew John Tinker – for family and friends who did not have a place to celebrate the blessings (and sometimes even the tribulations of the past year). It was a full week’s work.

Rich: Southern gothic murder (Part Three)

There is not a Southern Gothic story, murder, or else, without the Devil in a starring role.

Rich: Southern murder gothic (Part Two)

In Walterboro, SC, kindness hangs in the air like moss in the oak trees, providing a gentle whisper of invitation. This is what people call the Low Country since it sets near or below sea level on the coast.

Rich: Just a little talk

Tink enjoys looking out a window to see me meandering through the yard, talking to imaginary people. Usually, I’m working out a story but, not infrequently, I’m talking to someone special. Recently, I was out in the yard, picking up limbs from River Birch trees which prune themselves, constantly.

Rich: Ronnie Green’s gift

A few days ago, I went by the hospital to visit with a close friend, whose mother was ailing something terrible. That particular hospital has grown into quite a monstrosity since I was born, there when it was a small three-story square building.

Rich: The Tam

In our kitchen, the large round table is often embarrassingly messy, covered with mail, packages, newspapers, and magazines. Try as I might, I cannot keep it cleaned off because the amount of daily mail we receive is astounding, sometimes six inches high.