Columns

As I write this, it is Clint Eastwood’s 81st birthday. How can that be? I asked myself when I first read it.
Surely that cannot be right. Rowdy Yates is an old man? No  . . .
But then I looked at his birth year and it hit me. Hard.
The man I adored when I was a child is a year older than my father.
Is that possible?

Ashley Matthews is now Ashley Drake. That was the easy part. The path that led to that to that occurrence was more involved, more chaotic, more expensive. I doubt Will and Kate had such raucous nuptials.
But I’m getting the cart before the horse. Allow me to gee-haw, turn around.
Almost two weeks ago if you will remember, I went to Beaufort, S.C. to  hold the mother-of-the bride’s hand and to ensure she showed up for the marriage vows of her oldest child.

After church this past Sunday, Tom and I drove to a local diner for a quick snack since we bypassed breakfast and couldn’t wait until I shopped and cooked at home.
As we settled in, other groups filtered in–a good amalgam for Easter lunch: young couples, older adults, families with small children.
But it was the group of four women who took the table beside us that caught–and held–my eye.
They were all late 60s, early 70s, and each was different in size, shape, hair style and fashion sense.

By Ruqayyah Nicholas