Before I even returned from the six-week book tour that had pulled me from one side of the country to the other, I knew it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight.

You see it on the news every day – celebrities and others with media access use their influence to promote causes they support. The idea is to sway public opinion.

There are a few things that I miss about my old house now that I’m gone and settled in the new one.

The big oak tree near the garage door, for one. The tree that offered much appreciated shade in the summer then gloriously presented beautiful color in the fall. The one from which acorns fall with loud plops then crunch noisily when tires roll over them.

Occasionally, albeit rarely, a man will ask me how to properly romance and court a woman.

These are wise men.

So far I have been unable, though, to put three of them together. That leaves me to think that those legendary three wise men were just another Biblical miracle.

One of the most popular columns I’ve written had to do with Mama and her longing to get more mail. There was an outpouring of response from readers, many of whom asked for Mama’s address so they could send cards and others who promised to pay more mail attention to their older relatives and friends.

Who would have ever thought it?

But there it was. On the menu of a diner located in New York City’s Upper West Side: Grits — $3.50.

Claudette, one of my favorite divas, summoned me to lunch. “We have something to discuss,” she announced firmly.

Dutifully, I showed up and was in great hopes that Claudette’s irrepressible in-laws had been up to their usual nonsense because I had a column to write and needed some material. Of course, it would be hard to top some of the things they’ve done such as the cousin who got tired of cutting grass so he just had the entire front lawn asphalted.

Stella Parton, my longtime friend, arrived for lunch in Nashville one day with a handful of presents.

This, by the way, is a very Southern woman thing to do. We always bring gifts to a gathering and most certainly will slip one in a visitor’s hand as she’s leaving our home. I, too, had a couple of gifts for her. We hugged, squealed like school girls who haven’t seen each other in a long time then excitedly exchanged our gifts

This is an open letter to Billy Payne, who succeeds Hootie Johnson as president and chairman of Augusta National Golf Club in Augusta, Ga.:

It is amazing to me how many people can’t carry on a conversation. Especially when introduced to new people.

To be downright honest with you, it’s wearing me out.

One day while we were lunching, Merri Grace and I ran into an acquaintance who, at the age of 36, had just gotten married.

This is a true story. I swear on my favorite pair of Manolos (the hot pink stilettos) that it is.

Mama, despite a somewhat vigorous existence, had been feeling puny for a few months and, to be brutally honest, wasn’t looking her best. It’s probably a certainty that the suffering of her beauty, not the suffering of her body, was what got her, at long last, to go to Dr. Jeff Marshall, her beloved heart doctor.

Have you noticed there are an awful lot of men who own cats now?

When did that start?

Did the feminist movement back-fire on us? I mean we all know the point of the movement was to take and not give. But it looks like men just got tired of us taking and taking, pushing our way onto their turf so, when we weren’t looking, they turned around on us and took something that belonged to exclusively to womanhood.

On the way home from a speaking engagement, my sister, Louise, called me on my cell phone.

“Whadda you doin’?” she asked as usual then quickly cut to the purpose of the call.

When my beloved godfather left this vale of sorrow and tears for a better place, he slipped away quietly, softly and without warning.

Mama, never one to hold back her opinion, was commenting on my latest columns.

“You know, they’re just not as interesting when you don’t write about me,” she commented casually. “You haven’t written much about me lately.”

It is a conversation I’ve had to have regularly with Barclay, the wonderful man who is my accountant.

Though I adore him, I will tell you that he needs to study the rules of Southern womanhood more closely when it comes to delivering dreaded news or criticisms.

A couple of friends and I were having lunch in St. Louis, alternating between gazing out the window toward the historic arch at the river’s edge and talking about recent rude encounters we had each experienced.

Yet, another queen has sprung up to reign in my family.

My mama has ascended to the royal throne to preside as Green Bean Queen. Over the summer, she earned this title by paying prodigious attention to her little garden, which consisted solely of green beans, tomatoes and a few cucumbers that weren’t planted but popped up anyway. The poor tomatoes got little attention because the green beans got the royal share of love and nurturing.

In the South, Easter is as big a holiday as Christmas. And, we all know that Southern women spend months getting ready for Christmas.

“Bodacious! That’s what’ll it be!” proclaimed Rudy.

I smiled and nodded. Exactly what I had in mind. Bodacious. It’s such a delicious Southern word, one that only Southern women truly understand and use regularly. Bodacious means bold, showy and outstandingly Southern in the best, unique kind of way.

It is fair to say or so I believe that I am the only Dixie Diva who has ever gargled with moonshine.

This is probably one of the safest assumptions of my life. Especially knowing the propriety and ladylikeness of the others. Particularly in remembering that many of them are Baptists.

From time to time, I try to pay respect to my former beloved literature professors like Nancy Story by reading classic literature.

I found romance on the Mississippi River. I found the kind of romance that tickles your soul and warms your heart.

I found the kind of spectacular romance that inspires Hallmark cards and movies and women spend years of dreams searching for.

Standing in a grocery store line, I smiled at the woman who looked up briefly as she placed her items on the conveyor belt.

When word came that Mama’s Aunt Stella had passed to her heavenly reward, there were no reminisces over her great accomplishments or stories of how her children had gathered tearfully around her death bed.

“What is it with men?” Karen was asking on the phone.

I sighed heavily, the kind of expression that denotes aggravation. “Beats me,” I replied.

The simple things in life, I think, are missing. Things that served us well but the moment that technology magically appeared, we discarded them without a second thought and rushed on.

The other day I was in a phone conversation with a friend, who also happens to be a legendary sports figure. I will not use his name for reasons you will quickly see.

Dixie Divas #97

People sometimes ask me what’s the best advice I’ve ever gotten. There are lots of strong candidates.