Uplifting And Positive News
The Olympic gold medal Joe Jacobi won at the Barcelona Olympics in kayaking has brought him a lot of joy since 1992. No wonder he was devastated when it was stolen from his car a few weeks ago. Little did Joe realize, that incident, that loss was about to bring him a wonderful gift and a friendship he never expected. Six-year-old Chloe Smith thinks the story is pretty special, too. Another fine story of friendship from CBS News’ Steve Hartman.
Please help me. I need a word. A word we don’t have in English. One that we really need. That I need. Today. For today is a sad day. My friend’s mom has passed away. A woman I’ve known more than 30 years. A woman who has made me laugh. Made me feel loved. A woman who has suffered with illness far too long. So, perhaps, it is not sad that she is gone, That chapter closed. But it is
Friends. I’m studying the new math. Friends Addition. As in, how many friends do you have? There’s that ever-present number you see on Facebook. How many friends to you have there? As if, the majority of those contacts are real friends. And now, I’ve come across this study. It has me thinking friends and numbers. Adding them up. Scientists in Britain are looking at the age you have the most friends. When you are, according to the Aalto and Oxford
This week’s “Oh, No You Didn’t” Moment started with a single text message that popped up on my phone last Saturday. “Hey, DK, thanks for the email,” it read. “How about breakfast or coffee tomorrow?” “How lovely to get that invitation from a sweet friend!” you’re thinking. Yes. Only one problem. There was only an unfamiliar phone number attached to the text. No name. And there you have it– Just one of the almost daily opportunities I have to appear
I’m getting a new set of boobs tomorrow. Uh oh. Have you just stepped into a classic case of over sharing? In a word, yes. This boob journey is one I never wanted to share. Didn’t want to share it with you. Really didn’t want to share it with the woman I consider my best friend. See, the boobs in question are not exactly mine. They’re hers. The Phone Call That phone call seven months ago where she said, “The
It’s the most important thing in my kitchen. It’s not food. Nor a pot or pan. Not even a fancy appliance. Folks who have known me a long time find it funny that I treasure anything in my kitchen. See, much to the disbelief of my husband and kids, the ones I now cook for on a nightly basis, the ones who enjoy my usually pretty darn edible, if not delicious meals, for most of my life, I couldn’t cook.
My friend called this week to explain something I’d never considered. Great friendship comes down to a stack of pancakes. Her sweet call was apparently prompted by a visit with another friend of hers. A friend who has just filed for divorce. “Being there for her reminded me how you were there for me,” my friend said in a voicemail that I know I will keep for a long time. “How years ago you were there for me during
Too many days. Too many days, that awful, despicable, rude, ruthless bully called, “cancer” has knocked on the door of those I love. That day in high school when it took the life of my best friend, Cyndi’s, mother. That day just out of college when my roommate, Sandra’s, mother was diagnosed. Doctors gave her less than a year. She got the rare last laugh and lived 10 more. That day in ’97 when it was my other roommate, Heidi’s
You asked, you got it. Here’s my latest newspaper column. Please catch my column each week in The Atlanta Journal Constitution and The Dayton Daily News. Here’s hoping the ladies won’t mind some extra salty seasoning in the appetizers this weekend, as we gather to wish one of my favorite people in the world, “Goodbye.” For years, my friend, Lori and her husband have had this crazy dream—once their youngest child was out of high school they were up and
I’m sharing one of recent newspaper columns. Please catch me each week in The Atlanta Journal Constitution and The Dayton Daily News. Feel free to leave your comments below. I’d love to hear from you. She is my heart’s home. Together we cry through our hard times. Then, we hug. One believes when the other cannot. It’s been like that since we lived together senior year in college. Do you have someone so dear, so solid who you do this
