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It was in October of 1966 when I first saw her sitting near the stage of the Sumiton Middle School. She was in an antique dress and bonnet playing gospel songs on a pump organ that looked as if it came over on the Mayflower. Read more

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One day after playing on the playground, he asked us to look around and pick up any litter we saw. As we hustled around picking up scraps of theme paper and old Dixie cups, he said, “We should always leave a place better than we found it.” Read more

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Sunday was Christmas-tree day at the Watsons’. The soles of my shoes squished in parking-lot mud, but our spirits lifted when we saw a stand of ice-blue cedars among the Christmas trees. We knew our tree was there. Read more

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Jilda and I had a minor crisis in our lives this past week. Our coffee maker died. It was a slow, tragic death. Read more

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My Dad’s birthday was this week. He would have been 96 years old. Read more

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