Random Connect Points:
Reba's Stories

Once upon a time some 55 years ago, a sweet grandmother in Virginia sent her three young granddaughters small stuffed angels to nestle in their Christmas trees. Two went to sisters in Columbia and one went to Alabama. Little did the cousins know that, over the next 40+ years, these angels tagged along with all three of them through moves and life transitions. It was just a couple of years ago that the cousins realized all three of them were still lovingly putting their angels on their trees each year in Columbia, Mt. Pleasant and Columbus GA. Thanks to LeDare Wyndham for your thoughtful idea to capture these angels on a Christmas ornament for Bootie and me this year. Something we’ll always treasure.  

Birthdays ending with zero are supposed to gin up angst, right? For some, this angst may be related to visions of new skin potions, increasingly frequent hair color appointments or bone density tests. For others, it could be more about regret over unmet goals or unchecked bucket list items.  This week I turn 60. But, for some reason, I’m not feeling that angst. Maybe it’s because I’ve never bought into the black balloons and tombstone visuals about birthdays. Also, birthdays have never been a dreaded day for me. I see birthdays as a reason for reflection, a chance to hear from old friends and a day (OK, well, maybe a week this year) to allow myself to do my favorite things. This year, those favorite things may include an early morning birthday workout, my weekly Eggs Up breakfast, a long bike ride or dog walk, happy hour and dinner with friends, a pedi and my birthday evening spent with my Sip N Strum tribe.   But this “zero” birthday did get me to thinking about what drives my context

Everything about this Election Day feels different, starting with the fact I didn’t go to my long-time polling place to cast my ballot. I voted last week because I knew several circumstances might keep me from getting to the polls today. I had to be satisfied today with the “I voted” sticker on the back of my phone case left from last week. Although I didn’t actually vote today, Election Day ginned up lots of emotions and good memories in spite of all the raging personal attacks and downright meanness we saw this season. I’m reminded of a different time in my early career years when I had the chance to participate on the front lines of campaigns. While my recollection of the issues from past campaigns may have faded some over the years, the value of the lessons learned and friendships gained from these experiences has only grown. Friendships and relationships forged from campaign work are unique. These are people you see at their best and their worst, at their most confident and most d

  It's been two years since I brought home a rescue pup from PetsInc (that's us as I was getting ready to leave PetsInc to take her home). Flossie has been a joy every single day. Read her "gotcha" story here.

I love writing about music in my magazine assignments. This one for Columbia Metropolitan Magazine was particularly fun because I got to interview a number of people I have missed seeing perform over the last six months. Bluegrass lovers - you may recognize some of these names! Read it here.    

My latest piece in Columbia Metropolitan Magazine focuses on the state's growing hemp industry and how the resulting CBD products are being safely produced.   Read it here.

The work of journalists has always intrigued me. I went to college thinking I’d be one. Even after I decided to get my degree in PR, my senior project focused on journalistic ethics and the first amendment. Working with words and telling stories as a career had been on my radar since grade school. A series of Facebook posts over the weekend showing the final press run at The State paper’s printing operation got me to thinking about my early interest in local news and local stories. As a fourth grade Girl Scout, I was mesmerized by a tour of The State/Record’s printing operation. In sixth grade, I “published” a neighborhood magazine in the summer. I still have stacks of notebooks from middle school where I chronicled vacations, crushes, classes and thoughts about life. As a ninth grader, I had a class assignment to interview someone in the career field I thought I’d like to pursue after college. There was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to interview a newspaper reporter. A frien

Last July, I read Jennifer Berry Hawes' book, "Grace Will Lead Us Home ," about the Emanuel Church shootings. It shifted how I think about our state's history and race relations. The review I wrote last July feels even more relevant today than it did then. Here's a link to read the review. Over the past week, I read the book for the third time. This time with the overlay of our world's racial strife. Wow. If you don't have time to read the book, link to SC Public Radio's podcast, the SC Lede , to listen to an interview with the author. It's the next best thing.

When I went to vote absentee on Friday, I assumed with absolute confidence that my vote would be accurately cast. I’ve been voting for 41 years and never once have I questioned my assumptions about the process. That changed on Friday. I arrived at the election commission as one of many errands on my list for the day. When I saw the line of 30+ people waiting in the more-sunny-than-shady line, I didn’t hesitate to join the wait. The line moved quickly. I wore my mask as did most people in the line. Everyone respected the tape marks indicating social distancing. A staffer from the election commission walked up and down the line offering bottles of water. Once I got into the building, the process was efficient, and the staff was gracious in spite of the heat and long lines. I signed my paperwork with a properly sanitized pen at the plastic shielded window. I turned to give my paperwork to a staff member who inserted my paper ballot into the machine. It took a couple of tries to ge

Hearing someone’s voice encourages a connection that’s completely different than just exchanging a text, an email or even a handwritten letter. In today’s culture, technology often means we are losing the connection forged by voices. A voice is as distinctive to a person as his fingerprint or handwriting. The spoken word is intimate in a way the written word can never be. Over these weeks of quarantine, I’ve thought a lot about the voices I’ve let into my head through earbuds. I’ve listened to lots more music, podcasts, audiobooks and radio shows than ever before. As the days droned on, I came to realize a large part of what drew me to various programs, hosts, singers or narrators wasn’t just the stories they were telling or the information they were imparting, but it was the voice itself. There are four voices that I will always consider my “soundtrack of the pandemic” because they’ve been in my head through earbuds almost daily on  miles of walks or bike rides. These voices have

First office on Capitol Hill Not sure why, but I can always remember the date when I started my "real job" after college (May 23). Over the years, I've come to call this my "adultiversary." It was ten days after I'd graduated with a Journalism degree from UofSC. That day, I arrived on Capitol Hill sporting big hair, a shoulder-padded power suit and aspirations to be a press secretary. My first job was the front office receptionist for a freshman Congressman from Florence, SC. Each year on my adultiversary, I’m grateful for the fact I was able to land my dream job as my first job (or at least the "foot in the door" job that got me to my dream job). This year, however, this milestone feels a bit bittersweet as I see all the new graduates flooding the market with no jobs to absorb them. This school year, I taught a UofSC journalism class that prepared students for advertising careers. Each semester, I found myself not only teaching ab

It's National Dog Rescue Day. I can't say it any better today than I did in my tribute to Flossie on this day last year. Read it here.

Our little Medway Road family lost one of our long-time and beloved neighbors this week with the death of our sweet friend, John Ledlie. When we bought our house next to John and Peggy 27 years ago, we never imagined we would also hit the jackpot for neighbors. For years, John and I exchanged hellos from our adjoining driveways in the mornings when he drove grandkids to school each day. When I would do my late night dog walk around the block, I’d often see John in his kitchen window. He’d knock and wave as Flossie and I left the driveway, and he was usually there waiting to ensure my safe return a few minutes later. He never told me directly he was keeping an eye out for me, but it always gave me great comfort knowing he was there. John would often show up at our door with fresh produce he had bought, fish he had caught on his many outings along the coast or random frozen pizzas he had “overbought” at the Kroger. Our delightedly inter-generational neighborhood loves

 Our Campbell family lost its patriarch today when David’s dad, James Lee Campbell, left this earth just two days shy of his 97th birthday. He was the family’s rock, compass and strength. Jim leaves a legacy that will live on through the three generations of his surviving family. Jim was a kind, gentle soul who, with Margaret Anne, his wife of more than 60 years, raised four wonderful humans. A proud, yet humble, veteran of WWII and the Korean War, Jim was a die-hard Notre Dame fan, accomplished engineer, dedicated church leader, committed Rotarian, traveler, chronicler of family history, fisherman, golfer and good friend. He had lots of friends! He was also the best father-in-law a girl could ask for. Always, he treated me as family. From day one. And that meant the world to me because family was everything to him. My favorite memories of times spent with Jim are the evenings when just the two of us were at their house in Columbus, He was in his rocker, and I would be tucke

Fifty years ago today, a young family moved into a house they had just built. Nothing spectacular about this. It’s an event as American as apple pie … a house in a nice quiet neighborhood with lots of kids. Friends and family members were already living nearby. It was close to schools, church, work and everything important to this family. This house was special to me because it was my childhood home. It was standard 1970s ranch construction with a façade that exactly mirrored a home in historic Colonial Williamsburg that my mother loved. In today’s times, this milestone feels especially important because I am very acutely aware of the need for everything this house stood for – security, family, friends, comfort and familiarity. Although I moved out for college eight years after we moved in, that house continues to live in my heart as my “childhood home.” The word “home” can have so many different meanings at various times in your life. A childhood home evokes different feeli

This is another in my series of posts spotlighting some of the good circulating on social media. The word of the day is emotions. As an Enneagram 2, I have a lot of those:) Over the past couple of days, I’ve found reassurance and a sense of community from several experts on the topics of fear and grief – two emotions I’ve had a hard time reconciling as part of the events going on around us. If you’re looking for some insight and encouragement around these topics right now, these folks below offer us some good advice. I live in the shadow of Eastminster Presbyterian Church , and while I am not a member, I have long drawn peace from its physical presence. The predictability of the church bells has been especially comforting these past few weeks. Last week, the church’s FB page hosted a lesson about grief and how it affects us (scroll to post on April 3). Nancy Smith - a mental health counselor, wife of Eastminster’s pastor and a long-time family friend - led the sessio