Not Without Purpose by Phil Sims
Phil Sims, a Vietnam veteran, served in the US Navy for seven years, five of them aboard the USS Midway CVA41. He's a Boy Scout scoutmaster, a member of the Gideons International, and the author of Not Without Purpose. He and his wife, Alma, reside in West Monroe, Louisiana. They have three grown children and six grandchildren. Not Without Purpose is set at the end of the conflict in
Pruning Wars
When it comes to trimming the shrubs and trees around our home, Phil and I have vastly different ideas on when to say when. Phil takes pruning to the extreme. I can almost hear the foliage begin to whimper whenever the man picks up yard clippers. I would tell you that Phil is a more is more type of pruner. Phil thinks I am anti-pruning,
Shelby Foote in the Southern Quote
He was born during the Jazz age to an upper class southern family in Greenville, Mississippi. His father was a man of few early ambitions. It was only after he married and lost all his money that he was forced to work as a traveling salesman. He was surprisingly good at it, even earning a promotion, although he died of food poisoning before he could
Don’t Jump!
Someone sent me this joke in an email. While I have a hunch that it’s old as the hills, it made me laugh out loud. In my book, that’s a sign that I need to share it with my listeners. Laughter is hands down great medicine. That said, let’s do this thing. An Irishman, a Mexican, and a redneck were doing construction work on scaffolding on
Petite Party Burgers
Hello folks! Welcome back to the All Things Southern kitchen. I’m still on the March Madness kick and I haven't thrown anything at the television. We're making progress! Just joking there, but I'm serious about today's recipe, “Petite Party Burgers”! You’ll want to serve ‘em on one of these awesome ball game nights. They come from a cookbook my author friend, Amy Lyles Wilson co-wrote with Patsy
From the Front Grill to the Charcoal Grill?
Hello folks, let’s chat…I didn’t want to hit the armadillo. The poor thing darted in the wrong direction. I do want it on record that I didn’t retrieve the carcass. Why? Because I’ve been living under the assumption that here in the land of the free a person has a right to pull meat from the front grill and toss it on the charcoal grill,
The Forgiven Stone
I was browsing a bookstore within walking distance of the convention I was attending when I found it. One large stone imprinted with one compelling word, forgiveness. The thing all but spoke out loud to me. I bought it impulsively and began toting it back to the convention center. It was heavy when I struck out. It grew increasingly so over the next two city