It is the ordinary among us who make the world go round, who live quietly graceful lives, and who, when heroes are needed, step forward to make a difference.
I have seven earrings that don't have a mate and none of them -- together -- would look good as a pair. If they were people, they wouldn't be a good match on a dating site.
Her risky writing liberated me, made me feel that it was alright not to aspire to be a war correspondent, but to dream of artfully capturing the life in front of me.
Erma was there for women in the sixties, picking up where Dr. Spock left off, giving stay-at-home moms a chance to laugh off the tribulations of diaper rash, carpooling and mouthy kids. A few years ago, I thought: "What would Erma be writing about had she lived to be my age?'
Tragically we all have a tendency to become jaded adults and take things for granted. But the Santa Claus tradition is what makes "impossible" read "I'm possible."
My husband was the master of the off the cuff-comment and quick comeback. For almost 22 years of marriage, all I tried to do was keep up. And since his death from cancer in April, all I've tried to do is keep it up.
Since I am in the holiday spirit (and, having just consumed a mug of hot toddy, a glass of eggnog and a nip of cheer, the holiday spirits are in me), I have once again decided to follow in that great tradition of boring everyone silly by writing a Christmas letter.
My bag was packed. I was ready to go. For the first time I was flying solo. I was leaving on a jet plane, and though I knew when I'd be back again, oh, baby, I hated to go.
Online registration for the University of Dayton's 2008 Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop will open this Monday -- with scheduled speakers for the April ...