Random Connect Points:
Reba's Stories

As a self proclaimed “policy nerd,” I was excited to receive “A Concise Guide to SC State Government” by Vincent Sheheen as a Christmas gift. I found it easily readable – dare I even say a “page turner.” Sheheen comes by his expertise in state government loaded with credentials. He served in the SC House from 2001-2004 and the state Senate from 2004-2020. He hails from Camden where he now serves as mayor. His family is seeped in the politics and history of South Carolina. Sheheen also hosts a successful podcast with his friend and fellow retired state senator, Joel Lourie, where they interview political and policy leaders from both sides of the aisle. If I judged the book by its cover, I would almost guess it’s a textbook (and the author has noted in interviews that he hopes it will be used that way). But there’s plenty of vivid storytelling and well-written narrative to keep someone without my interest in politics engaged. For anyone who has heard the often ...

It's National Handwriting Day which got me to thinking about why handwritten notes bring me such joy.  (I've written before about the magic and mess of handwriting on a blank page. Read that post  here. ) When I was growing up, the family mailbox was a magic chamber that delivered cards with good wishes, post cards from interesting places and an occasional gift from a far-off relative. Today's mailboxes, however, often are more of a torture chamber spewing out political post cards, overdue bills and unwanted solicitations. What used to be a daily treat of checking the mail has now become just another chore.  Think about how you react to what you find in your mail cubby at work or in your mailbox at home. What’s the first thing you automatically throw out? But more importantly, what’s the first thing you put aside to read? Human nature will likely take us to the piece of mail that looks to be the most personal and least threatening…the handwritten, individually stamped en...

I do love the mess of a post-dinner dining room table!          It means favorite people in my life have lingered around this table. We enjoyed each other's company. We ate good food. We laughed. We may have stumbled down memory lane. We definitely had fun.  And that makes a mess worth every second of the little bit of extra effort it takes to bring out the "good stuff."  I love setting a pretty table. That means bringing out the "good stuff" that may have belonged to a grandparent or been a beloved wedding gift. On a recent Saturday night, I brought out my mom's good china when we hosted a very last minute, very casual supper for dear friends. A fancy table didn't mean we had to dress up or plan a formal meal. David whipped up a lovely dinner using recipes he wanted to try out. I set out my mom's silver goblets alongside our wedding crystal. The place settings mixed and matched our silver pattern with David's grandmother's. Candles flicke...

I've loved writing for Columbia Metropolitan Magazine for some 30+ years. My favorite assignments are features about people whose work I admire.  This month, I got to write about Columbia native Barrett Smith who has gained national fame as a member of the Steep Canyon Rangers . He was an absolute delight to interview and has such an interesting story to tell about his path to success. He loves Columbia and the people here who believed in him.  For anyone who remembers the bluegrass jams at El Burrito, have been to BirdFest or took guitar lessons from Robert Newton, you may find some familiar themes in this article .  As a fun aside, I was thrilled to be one of the featured writers in this month's issue . And this month's cover photo is spectacular!

I celebrated my 65th birthday this week secure in the fact I’m not yet “old.” That’s because I continue failing to check the boxes that I believe would qualify me for that definition. When I was growing up, “old” meant looking, dressing and acting a certain way. That involved wearing pantyhose, keeping a weekly beauty parlor appointment, never sleeping late, and always wearing lipstick. If that’s the standard, I’m not old yet … and I really don’t plan to be. I haven’t bought pantyhose in 25 years. I go to a salon, not a beauty parlor - and only every couple of months for a trim and touch-up. The closest I get to lipstick is Burt’s Bees tinted lip balm stashed in every pocket, drawer and bag. And yes, I can still sleep late like a teenager. But hitting the Medicare-qualifying milestone of “old” in the eyes of the government prompted me to consider more deeply this whole idea of “aging.” What exactly is old? How old do you have to be before you qualify as “old”? Is it when yo...

  Third birthday party As I approach my 65 th birthday , the concept of age hits a little different this year because of all those pesky Medicare solicitations that hit my mailbox daily. But, as one who always loves a birthday, I wasn’t really thinking of 65 as old until I heard a news story on the radio that described someone as “an elderly woman in her early ‘60s.” Hmm . . .   definitely don’t think I’m ready for that descriptor. 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 pantyhose, 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 grad...

Getting a puppy a couple of months ago while also juggling our usual daily/weekly deadlines and personal/family/friend commitments has forced me into a place of patience and observation I wasn't expecting to find. Our Bertie is so much fun and oh so funny ( read her gotcha story here ).  But she's also a puppy who needs routine, lots of attention, lots of naps, lots of patience and lots of repetition. All of this has forced me into slowing down a bit. Taking walks at her pace. Throwing balls in the back yard (the one thing she can laser focus on). Adjusting our driveway parking patterns to accommodate her instinct to bolt. Working my days in different kinds of blocks to accommodate Bertie's routine. It won't be long before she won't need this level of attention and will be far more self-sufficient to stay alone longer, walk calmly off the leash, and stop chasing every squirrel that crosses her path. In the meantime, I've resolved to enjoy my slow time with her a...