Random Connect Points:
Reba's Stories

We all know the saying "you can pick your friends but you can't pick your family." In some ways, the same could be said about neighbors. Generally, you can't decide who moves in beside you, across from you or down the block from you. Great neighbors are one of the random connect points in life that I love. Neighbors often know more about your habits than anyone else. They know if you eat and drink healthy by what's in your recycle bin. They know if you clean up after your dog, how late you go to bed , if you keep a neat yard, what time you leave in the morning...the list can go on and on. So when neighbors can also be friends, watchdogs, key-keepers, nurses and babysitters, it's truly a lucky place to be. Living in Washington, DC, during my early career years, I made my first "grown up" friends, Eleanor and Helen, because they lived across the street from me and my two roommates. Like us, Eleanor and Helen were recent college grads from the...

(I wrote this as an email on May 23 to close to 100 people who have influenced me during  my working years. I was so excited it got picked up by several professional publications.) May 23 marked the 30th anniversary of my first day in the work world. That day in 1983, I started my job as a receptionist on Capitol Hill after a local congressman hired me, sight unseen, over the phone three weeks earlier. I had a head full of big permed hair, big expectations, and little idea of what I was supposed to do as an employed and responsible adult. Looking back, I didn't have specific career goals in mind at that point, but I did know what I was good at and the type of work I wanted to pursue. Here, 30 years later, I've been fortunate to have a rewarding career that gave me 10 great years on Capitol Hill and took me back to my home state of South Carolina for jobs that combined my love of writing, communications, and politics with my curiosity about people and plac...

I recently sent out a blast email at work that had several bad links in it (operator error on my part). The email had gone to 146 people, and our tracking program told me 69 people had clicked on the link. All 69 would have found that the link went nowhere. Only one of those 69 people let me know about the bad link. Fortunately, because of this one person, I could quickly fix my snafu, resend the email and all was well. Later in the day I shot a quick email of thanks to the woman who had alerted me to the problem. The next day I got a very nice note back from her saying she needed that “atta boy” at the end of a rough day. It’s that circular world of the simple act of thank you. We all need it whether we know it or not. It never gets old.

I've found most people either lean toward routine or lean toward adventure. I'm pretty sure I fall into the routine category. I generally take comfort in many of the consistencies in my life. Saturday mornings are the perfect example of this. On the weekends when I am in town, nothing keeps me away from my Saturday morning routine of making a trip to the Soda City Market, picking up iced tea with a splash of simple syrup from Drip on Main Street, eating cheese grits with hot sauce from Rosso's market booth, visiting friends Sally and Stuart at their craft booths, and just enjoying the music, food and cool urban bustle that downtown Columbia has created. After that, I head to my workout with weights class at Jamie Scott Fitness. I claim my same spot in the room knowing one of several instructors I like will be teaching the class. I chat with several people I see only at this class and line up my weights in the same order each week. However, as I get older, I find that ...

Finding unexpected life lesson reminders through random daily situations is always a pleasure for me. I was nudged with several of these reminders during a recent week-long jury duty stint. When I received a jury summons back in the spring, my first reaction was probably the same as the average person - do everything possible to get out of it. I had a work trip the week I was initially summoned in May, so I got a postponement. But reality set in on a rainy Monday morning in mid-July when I found myself in a courtroom with 298 people who had received the same piece of mail commanding their presence. Ultimately I was seated as an alternate and ended up serving because another juror got sick. The decision we were charged with making would change the lives of everyone connected with this case. It was a wrongful death case involving the driver of an 18-wheeler and an admitted drug user who was the mother of two small children. Bottom line was the truck driver ran over and killed the woman...

When I was a child, my definition of old was my parents and their friends. Anyone who had kids, went to work, drove a station wagon or kept a weekly beauty parlor appointment was old. I always assumed that when you "got old," you always wore stockings, never slept late and got your hair done once a week. I grew up with a frame of reference about age that revolved primarily around grade levels and ages of siblings. I went to the same relatively small school from seventh until twelfth grade. The caste system was strict among age groups and grade levels. For the most part, there wasn't a lot of socializing between grades other than a few dating relationships where the boy was almost always the older one of the pair. Rare was the lasting friendship that crossed the grade level boundaries. I'm guessing this was due in part to the fact so many students had siblings at the school. It definitely wasn't cool as an older sister to have friends in your younger sister's...

The world is divided into two types of people. One isn’t better than the other; they are just different. There are “dog people,” and there are people who aren’t “dog people.” I’m not saying these “not dog people” hate dogs; they may be cat people or parrot people or gerbil people, or they may just be indifferent to dogs…they just aren’t “dog people.” “Dog people” get each other. We have a common appreciation of the comfort that comes from hearing a dog’s “tap tap tap” as he walks through the house on the hardwood floors. We “dog people” understand that feeling of pure joy when the dog welcomes us back the same way regardless of whether we left to put out the trash or went to Europe for a week. We “dog people” often know the neighbor’s dog’s name without knowing their “person’s” name. We “dog people” don’t mind the family of fuzz bunnies living under the bed from the dog’s shedding each spring. So when one of my “dog people” friends loses a beloved canine, I get it. One of my cl...