As Carol Burnett might say...

"I’m so glad we had this time together,

Just to have a laugh, and sing a song.

Seems we just got started and before we knew it

Came the time we had to say, ‘So long.’"

When "Say Goodnight, Gracie" came to the Opera House, some of you may have seen it. In the play, George Burns must audition if he is to enter heaven and be with Gracie. During the audition, he is returned to several important moments in his life.

As a youngster, Burns auditions for vaudeville with a group of boys who started singing together on a street corner. They are not hired for the job, but before he leaves the stage, Burns turns to the producer and says, "Thank you for the opportunity."

Near the end of the play, when it appears that Burns will be refused entry into heaven, he reflects upon his life and starts to walk into the darkness--but then he turns to say, "Thank you for the opportunity."

Today I would like to say the same: "Thank you for the opportunity."

After 30 years of "Women In Motion," this is my last column for The Newberry Observer.

I will miss you, heaven knows, but I am profoundly grateful for the opportunity to spend time with you over the past 30 years.

It was Jane Ragland’s idea that I write for the newspaper. She was a phenomenal writer herself and had published often in the State Magazine. Of course, she was the first person asked to write a column, and when she declined, she mentioned my name. That was a great act of faith on her part, since she had read little of what I’d written beyond drippy-sappy adolescent poetry. All I can say is: thank goodness Lutherans believe in redemptive grace, even for bad poets.

The newspaper office was located on Friend Street at the time, and the Observer had recently been sold to The State. My three typed pages of copy were due on Monday for typesetting, proofreading, and publication in the Thursday newspaper. Before long we moved from publishing twice to three times a week, and the presses moved to Main Street. The column then appeared on Wednesdays.

I was told that I could write about anything but sex. I said not to worry: with three children under five, there wasn’t enough of that to fill three typed pages.

When this adventure started, Walter Munson had not yet started school, Janie could not yet tie her shoelaces, and Buffy had maybe two teeth. You shared with me those bittersweet milestones that marked their growth from childhood to adulthood: the first day of school, a third-grade Thanksgiving program, a first science project, a ninth grade marching contest, a high school graduation, leaving for college.

You allowed me to share sweet memories of my childhood, too: of playing in wide fields and deep woods with cousins and big brothers and a baby sister; of being rocked to sleep by a gentle grandfather and being told family stories by an always-busy grandmother; of hugging a “cud’n” or two at family reunions and learning the fun of being both sweet and sassy from my aunts.

We’ve laughed together loud and long about home repairs and sunscreen, tornado “skylights” and Christmas lists, “Southern-speak” and squash. We’ve reflected on letters home during World War II, on the tragedy of 9/11, on civility in public discourse—not that the last one did any good, mind you.

Through illnesses and grief, your prayers have sustained our family. You shared with me moments of faith and inspiration found in birds’ nests and stained glass, in jonquil bulbs and a loving mother’s hands. Your support has helped in every good cause: Relay for Life, School Supplies Drive, Christmas gifts for foster children, Salkehatchie.

We learned a bit of Newberry history together: about Antoine Gilbal and Carrie Reeder, Emily Geiger and Ida Martin, Philemon Waters and “Aunt Kate.”

We met some interesting people, among them author Olive Ann Burns, singer Willie Nelson, and Southern author extraordinaire Pat Conroy. We travelled to some wonderful places: to New York for the Today Show, to Atlanta for the Fantasy Fair, to Tennessee for the Storytelling Festival, to France for the food, to Germany for Oktoberfest—and to Italy with Andy and Heather Hawkins, for the art and the food and the wine.

Together, we have celebrated the good teachers in Newberry schools, among them: Mrs. Whitaker and Mrs. Mathis, Mrs. Wessinger (a.k.a., Epting) and Mrs. Layton, Mrs. Feagle and of course, Miss Paris.

We have celebrated Newberry’s Oktoberfest and liver nips, Prosperity’s Hoppin’ and frog legs, Whitmire’s Party and June Dairy Month, the Newberry Opera House and West End Reunion...

You have indulged me as I celebrated, too, the good and decent man who has long supported my writing habit. Sweet Henry is indeed a loving father, a gentle husband, a faith-filled spirit, a brilliant accountant—and an insatiable reader. Now that he has learned to make his own sandwich and to mow the grass, too, I fear he is altogether too good for me.

My thanks to everyone in my family for their forgiveness and the endless source of material. My thanks to good editors at the newspaper for making me a better writer.

My heartfelt thanks especially to you, the reader. My hope is that some “Women In Motion” column through the years, whether it was mentioned today or not, has touched you in some way.

Have no doubt, your generous comments and kindly support have touched my life more deeply than words can say.

For about three years, while I worked in the “big city” for the S.C. Commission on Women, my friend Andy Hawkins shared with me the joy of writing “Women In Motion.” As we wrap up this final column, Andy joins me in saying to you: “Thank you for the opportunity.”

And “Good Night, Grace-filled Newberry.”

God bless.