An Old Familiar Place

Home, The Best Place To Be! Joab could see the lights of home,   back where life, he hoped,   would take on  a semblance of sanity.  Back to the real place of peace.  Memories of his childhood  rushed him by surprise.  He had not told Rachel  exactly when he would return.  But she knew it would be before  Thanksgiving. He was certain  Jonathan had taken care of  the turkey and that Isaac and Jennie  would help with the vegetables  and Rachel … well Rachel  would have everything under control. He had left Aggie behind, a hard thing … possibly the hardest thing he had done, that is, since the war and all the death in his own family. Life, fragile at its best, had dealt Joab a few losses. He hoped Aggie would not be included. He could not bear to lose her, to death or for any other reason. He had experienced a fair measure of the brittle thread over the past few months. He thought—life is as fragile as Aggie. But she is beautiful, delicate, like a piece of lace or a

Healing Holly Springs is a beautiful little town South of Memphis where Grant winter quartered in November and December of 1862. He brought his lovely wife, Julia, and his son those weeks he spent in North Mississippi, though they did not stay in the same house. Grant had work to do, but he missed them and took some risks with their safety to have them near him, in fact just a few houses down from him on Salem Street . His love of family brought out the human side of a man who, from a military perspective, was ruthless and heartless. JOAB features the Union General that was most hated by the South, probably as much as the North hated our Robert E. Lee. But that was the hard cold facts of War. Those who gave the orders to kill and destroy were the recipients of the height of hatred, and that was true for both sides. One thing was certain, Grant always picked the loveliest of the South's antebellum homes as his headquarters. In Holly Springs, Oxford, Vicksburg, Natchez—it was o

Jimmy Giles Nothing will cheer the heart of a writer like a grand review of a published book. Today when I read my messages, this one was first and it blessed me in a way that is hard to explain. So I'll let you read it. Jimmy Giles is as delightful as his smile. And Clarksdale, Mississippi is proud and blessed to boast that he is at the heart of this Delta town in many ways. He runs the tourism center, which is prominently located in the Old Greyhound Bus Station , a significant landmark in historic downtown Clarksdale. And something else just as significant ... Jimmy is a graduate of our dear old CHS (Clarksdale High School) well ... maybe a few years before me, and it was not until this summer that I met him for the first time. In fact, he was responsible for my very successful book signing in Clarksdale (at the Bus Station) on the same day as the Sunflower River Blues Festival! I'll never forget it!  Here's Jimmy's review, for which I wi

of The Great Smokey Mountains of North Carolina is a splendid place to retreat. It's called Balsam Mountain Inn. Getting to it is as much fun as sitting on the porch of this 1905 bed and breakfast. I could have stayed here for a while. But far better than that... I think sitting on this porch or in any of the gazillion parlors I could write a really good story. Balsam is a little whistle stop between Waynesville and Sylva. In earlier days, people from the Low Country who could stand the heat and humidity just so long used to take the train up to Balsam and recover on this very porch and in these parlors. As you cross the railroad tracks and head toward the Inn, there's a Whistle Stop Cafe or Grocery Store (could have been either) that sits beside the tracks. Time has surely woven a story about this place, now all grown up with morning glories and kudzu and honeysuckle. Clapboard wood, once painted white is now in dire need of a coat of something.  There must have be

Unforgettable. A treasure. Etched forever in my mind. Some places affect me that way. Oxford is one of them. I guess you might say I'm just plain smitten with this little city. For many years I didn't know about it. Oh, I had been there when I was in high school. I had to perform a piano duo with another classmate once for school competition. At Ole Miss. It was the worst day of my life. The piano was bigger than big.You know, one of those concert grands with added keys on the bass. I had never seen anything like it in my small-town life. And the absolute lowest keys on the bass didn't play when I touched them. As a matter of fact, I remember struggling to reach that far down. The same thing must have been happening to my counterpart, because we both kept hitting those keys to try and get them to give us some sound. We just looked at each other and gave up. Later we laughed about it.That must have been fifty-seven years ago. And it was not until just the last few y

All my Memphis and North Mississippi friends  are so invited! Holly Joyner's House (Holly's my beautiful granddaughter!)  115 Walnut Creek Road Cordova, Tennessee 38018   Saturday, August 18, 2012 10:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m. There is no more familiar place to me than Memphis. It was my town for many years. Like my coming-up trip to Clarksdale, going back to Memphis is always like going home again. I have so many ties to the old Bluff City. My son and grandson are there! Sleepy head! This kid is amazing. Both of them are! They have lived in Midtown for well over ten years, almost as long as we've had Harrison, who is now thirteen! Where did the time go? And, my granddaughters are there with their lovely families, which makes Memphis Town special, indeed. This is Nichol and hers! And this is Holly and hers! So you can see, coming to my signing in Memphis will have lots of bonuses! I won't be able to call names and

This Delta Girl is proud to be going back —back to Clarksdale— this time to sign some books  and I want you to be there with me! The Tourism Building In Historic Downtown Clarksdale, Mississippi Saturday, August 11, 2012 10:00 a.m. - 2:00 p.m. I know—I've been away for a long, long time. But I did go back nineteen years ago and after that trip, I began to write HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS . I couldn't give up on it and some fourteen years later, I got it published. Here's a little excerpt from chapter one of my first book, my memoir, my love for the Mississippi Delta . . . By the time the late fifties rolled around, my interest was not the surreptitious exodus out Fourth Street to Highway 61 North, for I knew nothing of it. Nor was it neighboring Tunica and the casinos, not yet a twinkle in Mississippi's eye. It was those oak-shaded streets—West Second, Catalpa, School, and Oakhurst Drive. It was Alan's and Powers' and Shankerman's dep