Rich: Maybe it’s just me

Most readers of my wife’s column know that I am a transplant. Some might say that I’m an interloper or intruder. Since moving to the South, I’ve encountered only extreme warmth and hospitality. Yet, I still regard myself as the “odd man out” if only in my own home. Or is it just me?

Rich: Mama learns a few things

In the Appalachian years of Mama’s childhood, there wasn’t a lot of learning to be done other than that which comes from hard times and harder work. Scattered throughout the widespread communities were one-room schoolhouses.

Rich: When y’all come home

To most Southerners, without question, they are the two sweetest, albeit four-letter words, in our language. The mere mention of “Mama” or “home” will bring a smile to our lips and a warm tingle to our hearts.

Rich: A little girl’s smile

It had not been a good day. Nor a good week. Nor a good month. Or two. Here’s the thing about the television business: It looks easy but few jobs are harder. Working in television can be rougher than the hottest day in a hay field. And much less rewarding.

RICH: The suffering it takes

The craft of writing is complex. It does not come easy, not even to the most talented of scribes. F. Scott Fitzgerald’s editor, Max Perkins, wrote that Fitzgerald sometimes spent long days, rewriting one paragraph. He agonized over choosing precisely right adjectives and verbs.

RICH: Being smart enough to hang on to the good memories

This past year, it seems that I spent most of the time taking big steps over jutted holes where my foot stopped just short of another rut. I’d balance for a moment, thinking about how to clear the next hole. Though it’s metaphorical, it’s a pretty good description.

RICH: A profound decision (or so I think)

Perhaps you’ll want to sit down for this. It might even be advisable to grab a cool, wet washrag for your forehead in case you feel swimmy-headed over this news. I’m going to start minding my own business.

RICH: The prayer march

The old man shuffled along the sidewalk, his work boots dusty with a hint of red mud clinging to one heel. From the pocket of well-worn overalls, he pulled a red bandana and wiped his nose.

RICH: A beautiful life’s final place of rest

It’s been at least 20 years since I visited Winston Churchill’s grave in the tiny English village, a stone’s throw from Blenheim Palace, the ancestral seat of Churchill’s uncle, the Duke of Marlborough, where the history- making Prime Minister was born.