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After a country supper in the days of my growing up, Mama would often stand up from the table and say, “Ronda, you clean up the kitchen. I need to call Idell and see how she’s doin.”

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It was many years ago now that I stopped by the post office to gather mail. Among the bills was a small ivory envelope. My name, though misspelled, was presented in printed hand. The postmark was from a Midwestern state.

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Sometimes in the twilight of a fading day, I sit for a spell on the back porch. Occasionally, I read but often times I just watch and listen.

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My husband and I are both storytellers. This is how we make a living and we consider ourselves blessed that people buy our words.