Haunting Melodies

By LOTTIE BOGGAN,

Pat Sajak had just awarded a puzzle winner the prize money of $37,000. I left the TV on but turned the volume off. The date had been in the back of my mind all day, and I allowed myself to remember exactly where I was 50 years ago. I wasn’t watching the Wheel but was at our home on Eastover Drive.


After all these years

By LOTTIE BOGGAN,

Friday, January 17, 2020

When Roo Roo and I left the house for our afternoon dog walk, heavy gray clouds flirted with a pale blue sky; after all the rain we’d had the air was musty, yet cool. I was on a time frame so it would be a quicker dog walk than usual.



Might need to hire someone

By LOTTIE BOGGAN,

A few days after Christmas, dawn was a golden brush stroke across the sky when I headed home on the Natchez Trace from visiting my son Bob's family in Tennessee. As I have done several times in the past, I stopped at the Council House Café in French Camp. Not hungry yet, I got a to-go lunch to carry with me and once again hit the road.


A trail of tears

By LOTTIE BOGGAN,

Christmas Eve I got up with the chickens; I’d soon be on my way to Savannah, Tenn. to spend Christmas with son Bob, daughter-in-law Gail and grandson, Brent. I didn’t feel much like it, but I had to get myself in gear. I had the Epizootic (runny nose, sore throat, stopped-up ears and hacky cough).



A house filled with love

By LOTTIE BOGGAN,

How many people are coming for Thanksgiving dinner? Glory Be! Who knows?

Tables are set for anywhere from 24 to 40 folks, TV trays are stacked up in a corner and blankets and spreads decorate the floor.

But this I do know. In so many ways I am on a very tight schedule.


The Tally-Bambi

By LOTTIE BOGGAN,

I was chopping onions for Thanksgiving dressing this year and was on a short timeframe. When my cellphone dinged, I nicked the end of a finger and dropped the knife. I almost didn’t answer the call, but wiped my hands on a dishtowel, and clicked it open. 

Granddaughter Peyton’s smile filled my cellphone.



Age is a work of art

By LOTTIE BOGGAN,

Dressed for a dinner at the Country Club, I found myself in a much shorter line than the buffet; instead of dining on a gourmet meal, I spent my evening visiting a Doc in a Box clinic. And no. I had not yet made it to cocktail hour.


Poochie Prayers

By LOTTIE BOGGAN,

“I’ve seen a few of the test results and your dog’s desperately ill.” Hearing those words from the critical care clinic veterinarian and realizing that my dog might not live pierced my heart. “I’ll be back in just a minute,” she said, leaving the room.



Forgotten Dreams

By LOTTIE BOGGAN,

Time, like an ever-rolling stream

“Tuck your tail, quit your sniffing and come on.”

Just in case a gentle reader hasn’t perused one of my Northside Sun articles recently, I was talking to a dog, not one of the Grands.


Dog Days of Summer

By LOTTIE BOGGAN,

Short as the walk that ends the night                 

“You’re a good girl. Now behave yourself.” 

I tighten the leash, stop a moment to catch my breath, bend over and pet the dog.  “We should be able to finish our walk, then I have some things to take care of before I, ‘make it to the church on time,’” I hum.


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