Working Vacations
Remember when I told y’all about Barry in West Texas? He’s the fellow that offers “work vacations” to help make ends meet. He puts advertisements in a few big city newspapers, offering work experience on his farm. He talks it up big, you know— get fit while experiencing nature, that kind of thing, and he gets a lot of suckers. I mean, takers, he gets
The Hey Fatty App?!
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The Rest of Mercy’s Story
I knew I would have to tell y’all. I thought I’d waited long enough that I might be able to do it without crying. I was wrong. Again. Last Sunday I flew home from Georgia and landed in Monroe, LA. My first stop on the drive home from the airport was Highway 2. I needed to see my man in the worst way and that meant
Topping Off Your Tank
My parents are big on the importance of keeping a vehicle’s gas tank as close to full as possible. Maybe it’s because they’ve always lived in the country where there isn’t a gas station on every corner, or any corner for that matter. Maybe it’s a generational thing, but to their way of thinking, when the needle gets anywhere around the half-way mark you’re running on
Down by the River
As I’ve mentioned on the porch, I am the granddaughter of a Southern Baptist preacher, and I’m from the south, AKA, the Bible Belt. I like to say I was in church nine months before I was born and ever since. My point? You might think I would’ve witnessed a river baptism or two. I haven’t. I’ve heard about some good ones, though. My Papaw
Summer’s Shrimp and Feta Cheese PoBoys
Welcome back to the All Things Southern kitchen! It’s time to serve up something tasty. I’ve got the ingredients rounded up for Summer’s Shrimp and Feta Cheese PoBoys! I made ‘em the other evening along with a kicking spinach and fotina cheese dip. Have mercy! These poboys are scrumpdillicious and I’m ready to show you just how to whip ‘em up. Let’s get cooking! “Summer’s Shrimp and Feta
Don’t Mess with Paulette’s Crowning Glory
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Scars of Redemption
I doubt any of you could see the faded marks on my chest if I didn’t point them out, but I can still see them because I know where to look. I look quite often. I call these marks my love wounds, gifts from my youngest grandchild. It’s unintentional, for sure, this habit nineteen month old Connor Maher has of playing with your skin while you’re