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There is a spot on I-20 East in Atlanta where the exit for I-85 and I-75 is located. That spot – THAT spot – has been the scene of some of our more heated disagreements.

A survey was once conducted over the country in which two questions were asked. First, are you worried about anything? Second, if so, what?

A common refrain of Mama’s, particularly during my high school and college years, was, “Don’t get above your raisin’, little girl.”

In his most famous dialogue, "The Republic," Plato, via Socrates, explored the idea that a just state would best function under the leadership of a perfectly just philosopher-king.

It may be a truism-in-the-making that one’s political career is over when, as a candidate, you must first apologize for your sex and race, which can mean only one thing: Young or old, you’re a white guy.

When I was growing up in the rural South, things were simple. Life was enjoyable and, though we didn’t know it then, we savored those days.

Something nudged me the other day and sent me to a closet where high on a shelf, tucked back in a corner, was a collection of Mama’s gatherings.

There are 8.5 million Virginians. Surely the commonwealth can find someone to serve as governor whose yearbook page does not prominently feature a picture of a broadly grinning young white man in blackface and another wearing Ku Klux Klan robes.

Chances are, that if you’ve ever heard me speak more than once, you’ve heard me tell the inspiring story of working with Darrell Waltrip in 1989 when he won his only Daytona 500 by taking a big gulp of a risk.

Roosevelt and Hinckley By Ronda Rich Until the presidential election of 1988, Daddy, who always cherished his right to vote, had never cast a ballot for a non-Democrat. He was, as was most mountain kin of ours, what folks in the South call “a yellow dog Democrat.” In other words, they would vote for a yellow dog as long as he was a Democrat

Always, as we enter into a new year, I like to look back at the past year and reflect on the memories, especially the good ones.

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When Miss Independence arrived at the two-story brick elementary school, I walked determinedly through the doors, found a classroom and settled in.

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Roosevelt was of the privileged New York elite, so he had no idea how the poverty-plagued Southern region was forced to live. What he saw there would change his heart – and his changed heart would transform all of America during the dark days of the Depression.

The Georgia Department of Public Health (DPH) and the Pediatric Healthcare Improvement Coalition of Georgia (PHIC) encourage all parents to fully vaccinate their children, ages 6 months and older, each year against influenza.

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We lived in a solid, little house with three bedrooms and one tiny bathroom and there was never a worry over paying the light bill before the power was cut off.

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The other day, Tink forwarded a story link to me. In an effort to know all things Southern and to love better this different life he has chosen, he often checks things online then forwards interesting pieces.

Recently it has occurred to me that I’m just too extreme in how I save and manage and refuse to throw away.

Even as a child, I knew that Daddy was the little pig who built the sturdy house and turned to the other two pigs and said, “You can huff and you can puff but you can’t blow my house down.”

Keep calm and raise hell. The forces of truth and justice may be closing in on President Trump, but there is no reason to believe they can triumph without massive displays of outrage in the streets and at the polls.

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During the week of April 21-28, the city of Jonesboro will join other cities across Georgia in celebrating Georgia Cities Week. This week has been set aside to recognize the many services city governments provide and their contribution to a better quality of life in Georgia. Our theme, “Cities in the Spotlight,” reflects the role cities play in the state’s history.

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The steam of a Mississippi Delta morning was starting to take hold as I sat under a magnolia tree in front of the grand, old courthouse in Greenwood. Fifteen yards away was the muddy Tallahatchie River. The cars hummed over the bridge as I sat quietly reading the works of Miss Eudora Welty.

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