It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, and, oh, the rich memories it all conjures up of Christmases past.
Several years ago, I fell asleep on the sofa only to be awakened by the sound of the QVC home shopping network, every light in the house turned on, and Mama flailing her arms in the air. I wasn't dreaming.
The architecture of life is so similar to that of the stained glass windows posed perfectly still across time, illuminated by lanterns and candles in ancient churches along my drives through old towns.
Like the old song says, it's my party and I'll cry if I want to.
Walt Disney said, "We keep moving forward, opening new doors and doing new things, because we're curious, and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths."
The birds are chirping outside my window. As I lean in to listen, I wonder what they are saying to each other.
Seasons come and seasons go. Years pass by in what seems like no time at all.
If the runways of New York and Paris were any indication of fall's mood in fashion, women will be falling in love with a 19th Century return to lady-like drama.
Buns are everywhere. Now before your mind drifts to one of those hot, cinnamon-sprinkled, icing-drizzled delights, just know that I am referring to men's hair buns.
When I open my mouth, my mother comes out.
Mama always had her bottle of Oil of Olay night cream on her vanity keeping company with Estee Lauder's White Linen eau de parfum on her mahogany dresser, beside the Bible.
Two of my nieces are, as the more ladylike members of the Dykes Chapel Road community used to say, "in the family way" or "with child."
I remember sitting on the hard floors of the porches of my youth listening to old men and women telling stories while swatting flies from wooden rocking chairs.
I have had my fair share of sunglasses -- the good, the bad and the ugly.
I am not Cait, but this is my story.
"I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year." Charles Dickens was right. Christmas melted even the heart of Ebenezer Scrooge.
The old adage that men sweat and ladies glisten might hold true for some, but here in the South where it's hotter than blazes, folks of all kinds just sweat.
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