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It happened the other day, but I just wouldn’t accept it. Then, a couple of days later, it was made clear that she had just given up the ghost and died.

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Last year, Tink finally, after several years of being asked, succumbed and agreed to speak at a yearly prayer breakfast held at the Beverly Hills Hotel for Christians who are in the television and movie industry.

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Back through years I sometimes ramble until I reach a time when I wore petticoats with a bell sewn into the hem that jingled when I sashayed.

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Normally, I stay away from New Year’s resolutions, but this past year has revealed a flaw in me that is so deep that I have no choice but to face it and resolve to fix it.

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In the midst of uncertainty, Tink and I were enormously blessed. Last December, we were traveling I-20 West, toward our treasured Alluvian in Greenwood, Miss., when, somewhere near Birmingham, a text from his manager binged on Tink’s phone.

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Several years ago, when Tink and I were still somewhat newly wed, we hosted a relative of his from Los Angeles.