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Ronda Rich's blog

Back in 1937 . . .

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When she talked about those tribulations back in 1937, her feeble voice crackled with both age and emotion. With over 70 years separating then from now, the grief still lingered but wisdom had covered it like moss on a riverbank.

Dinner table talk

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A few months ago when Poet, the free-lance wanderer that he is, found himself passing through my neck of the South, he called up, then turned up at my front door, then plopped down in my guest room for a few days.

Death in the South

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One Sunday morning I came breezing into Sunday School class, after having been out of town for a week. My sister grabbed me and hugged me tightly to welcome me home.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re back!” Louise shrilled happily. She hugged me again. “I missed you.”


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